Good Days and Bad Days
by Harriet Vane
Summary: When Angel goes bad Doyal and Cordy run to Sunnyvill in hopes of enlisting the Slayer


Hey, these guys aren't mine, they, in fact, belong to the **_WB_**__. The story, however, is mine. I'm not making money only fun (I don't have cable, I make my own fun). For those playing the home game, this happens right after Oz guest stars on Angel, but before he cuts out of Buffy

  
  


Good Days and Bad Days

"Out in ten or not out at all," Cordy muttered. "That's what he said right?"

"Right," Doyle whispered.

"And how long has it been?"

"Two minutes longer than the last time you asked."

"Forty-seven minutes," Cordelia said softly. "What should we do?"

Doyle took a deep breath of L.A.'s muggy night air. "I da'know. Wait a little longer?"

"How long?"

Doyle didn't have an answer. "Well, then, maybe we should go in."

"Angel didn't come out, so he's still fighting."

"Right, still fighting."

"Right."

"Right."

Twenty minutes later they were still waiting. A church three blocks away tolled the hour, four a.m. 

"Sunrise soon," Doyle said soberly.

"Then," Cordy whispered hopefully, "he'll be coming out soon. He can't stay there all day?"

"No," Doyle said, shaking his head softly. He looked at the wall in front of them, inside there was a beautiful park, golf course, swimming pool, the works. Even if Angel did manage to get out of the direct sunlight before sunrise, there was no way he could stay there, inconspicious, undiscovered by humans. "I don't think he could."

They waited a few more minutes. 

"Maybe we should go check on him," Cordy said solidly. 

"Check on him?"

"You know," she said nervously. "Just peek over the fence."

"I thought we agreed that he was still fightin'."

"I know," she said softly. "But it's been quiet for, like, a long time."

Doyle glanced away from Cordelia's frightened eyes and looked over at the wall to Hollywood's trendiest country club. "I guess we could take a peek," He finally said, opening the car door and sliding out. Cordy followed suit and soon they were standing in front of the one gate that lead to the park on the other side of the wall.

"I'm sure he's fine," Cordy said because she really needed to hear it.

"I'm sure."

"And we'll probably walk up on him skinny dipping or something."

"Probably."

"And that's the last thing I want to see."

"Ya ready?"

Cordy took a deep breath, "yeah"

Doyle nodded, taking a deep breath of his own. "Yeah." 

Doyle cupped his hands and hoisted Cordy up about half the gate before he started climbing up it himself. Neither of them landed on the other side very gracefully or stealthily. But no one seemed to notice their entrance so, it appeared, there was no harm done by their loud entrance.

Despite their apparent aloneness, Doyle and Cordelia could feel the evil that surrounded them. They communicated entirely with looks, and they communicated a lot. Silently they snuck past the big trees and the delicate flowers. They edged around the side of the empty golf course and into the heart of the park where the lodge was, and the shrine to the demon Trasserite, taker of souls. That little nick-name should have been a warning to Cordy and Doyle, that anyone who had a soul to lose should keep their distance, but they needed to know what was going on. They reached the outside of the lodge and suddenly both of them became horribly afraid. 

If one hunts demons long enough, they develop a sense for them. People like Buffy and Angel had it naturally, but it was not hard to acquire. Before they even got to the lodge proper, Doyle and Cordy's demon radar was going wild.

"If he's ok, he'll turn up at home eventually," Cordy whispered so that Doyle heard her as much as he read her lips.

As afraid as he was of the evil that he could feel surrounding him, he was more afraid of abandoning Angel if they could help him. On the other hand, he was leading Cordy into something very dangerous and he didn't quite feel comfortable in doing that. "Go back and see," he said, not intending to be demeaning. "I'll meet you there."

"Oh no," Cor said viciously. "Unuh, I'm not going to wait for you not to come back too." She looked around her and, almost visibly, gathered her courage. "Let's keep going." With that she lead the way as Doyle followed, amazed at her courage born of determination.

They made it all the way to the lodge's beautiful, wrap-around, wicker porch before being attacked. It wasn't the kind of attack that either of them expected. Instead of one or two big demondy monster guys coming out of a door or crashing out of a window to fight, and most likely beat, them, about twenty little demons, more like hobgoblins, appeared out of the wood work and attached themselves to Doyle and Cordealia. They were impossible to fight as a whole. While one could be kicked away or even picked up and thrown away, three or four were impossible to escape, and even if you somehow managed the impossible, you only managed to escape for a second before the next three or four assaulted you. Ten minutes of fighting and it was over. Doyle and Cordelia were subdued under multiple hobgoblin's iron grasps.

As the pair struggled against the captors fruitlessly, Doyle heard a familiar footfall approach. He glanced up and was immediately relived. Cordelia didn't notice the approach until the newcomer to the scene was actually there and spoke.

"I thought I told the two of you to stay in the car," Angel said dryly, not rushing to get the little demons off of his friends.

"Angel!" Cordelia yelled, sure her salvation had come.

"We were worried," Doyle said with caution. The look in the vampire's eyes was not one of salvation.

Angel seemed to consider his friends for a moment. Doyle searched his friend's eyes for empathy, some sort of compassion, even anger at the little monsters. But there was nothing, nothing at all.

"Angel?" Doyle asked, his brow was wrinkled with concern.

"Now," he said casually, "I sure I told you two to wait in the car."

"We thought you got dusted!" Cordy said. She was clinging to her childish hope that there was going to be a happy ending because there had always been one before.

"Cordelia, you really are beautiful . . ."

She glanced at Doyle, this was not normal, not even close. "Angel?"

"And stupid. Horribly stupid. You never catch on."

"No," she whispered, feeling tears line the rims of her eyes.

"And Doyle, the Powers That Be give you visions of the future and you couldn't even see this coming."

"This isn't you," Doyle tried desperately

"Really," Angel laughed, "It certainly feels like me, only . . . you're right. Something is wrong with me." He smiled, and simultaneously transformed into a vampire. "I'm hungry."

"Oh, God," Cordelia sobbed.

"Bring her to me."

The hobgoblins obeyed, dragging Cordelia to her certain death. "No, Angel," she moaned. "No."

"Angel, man." Doyle said struggling against his own little demons. "Don't do this. You'll never be able to forgive yourself, to live with yourself!"

"I don't foresee that as a problem."

"Angel," Cordy whimpered as he grabbed her neck forcefully and pulled her towards her. "Please don't."

"Do you know the last time I drank a human?"

Angel could feel her trembling in his arms, hear her heart thudding with terror and smell the sweet blood, like wine, they were sensations he hadn't felt in thousands of years. He had feed on Buffy, but she had been a willing feast, no struggle or fear, and even if there had been he was far to week to enjoy it. But this time was different, Cordelia was the perfect young, horrified, innocent, beautiful damsel. The demon inside of him screamed for gratification.

Cordy's breath came in gasps, "No, nooooo."

"You're not going to beg?" Angel mused. "Maybe you think I won't really do it." As if, solely to prove her wrong, he dug his sharp fangs into her lovely neck. Her heart pumped her life's blood into him. She pushed against him but her strength failed her and she went limp in his arms. In the background he could hear Doyle yelling, but he couldn't focus on that. He continued to feed on Cordelia, her heart slowed as did her breathing, dangerously. Angel knew that it was time to stop. He through her down and no one was there to catch her. Her dark hair cascaded down a split second behind her and covered the bloody bite mark on her neck. For a moment he watched her lifeless body lie on the ground then he turned his attention to Doyle.

The half-demon was looking up at him from his position kneeling on the ground. Angel expected revulsion, hatred, contempt, and possibly a murderous glare. But that wasn't there. Doyle looked up at his 'friend' with eyes that were so hurt they almost begged to be killed. As far as Doyle could see, even with his visions, the only friends he had, the only people he gave a damn about and who gave a damn about him, were dead. And with them his chance to do something good, to redeem himself, to be happy with the life he had been born, but not raised, into. 

"What are you looking at?" Angel demanded angrily.

"A ghost," Doyle said softly. "Apparently."

Angel looked into the young mans cold gray eyes for a second, but he couldn't stand the intensity he glanced away and towards the horizon.

"We need to go," Angel said. His demonic eyes fixed on a point far in the distance. "It'll be sunlight soon."

He turned and walked into the lodge proper. As soon as the door was shut, separating Doyle from his 'friend' with a solid thud, the hobgoblins seemed to evaporate and Doyle was suddenly free, with no evidence of the horror he had just witnessed with the exception of Cordelia's cold, pail, body lying on the ground. 

"Cordelia," he muttered before running over to what was left of her. He knelt by her and with a fool's hope, checked for a pulse on her ice cold wrist. His foolishness was rewarded, she had one. He pushed her soft mahogany hair away from her neck and looked at the bite wound, it was messy with blood, not licked clean like all the other vampire victims he had seen. It was odd, but he didn't have time to ponder the significance. Quickly, he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it firmly against her neck wound, to get the bleeding to stop, then very gently he picked her up and tried not to think about how much lighter she seemed now, apposed to when he had hoisted her over the fence less than an hour ago. 

***

From a large bay window inside the lodge, Angel watched Doyle stumble down the gravel path, gently holding Cordelia close to his body.

"See," he said, turning to the huge, oil colored demon standing next to him. "Self-cleaning."

"Very useful," Trasserite said, slapping Angel on the back, almost causing the vampire to stumble. "But my slaves could have done it, why leave that one alive?"

"He wanted me to kill him," Angel said, smiling wickedly. "What's the fun in that?"

The demon chuckled.

"Soon," Angel said, "He will remember that he likes life, and then he'll hide. And then the hunt will begin!"

"The hunt?" Trasserite asked amused.

"There is nothing I love more than a good hunt, and it's been years . . ."

"How many?"

"Thousands, most of which was spent in Hell."

"Ah, hell," the demon mused. "It really is fun this time of year."

Angel blinked, "Not the word I would have chosen."

"Come," Trasserite groaned. "The sun is almost up and it is time for me to regenerate. "To the sewers."

"To the sewers," Angel agreed.

***

Doyle pulled Angel's car into a sunny parking space in front of the L.A. Sisters of Mercy clinic. They were open twenty-four hours a day, they gave care to people who needed it, and usually they didn't ask questions. Doyle hated going to these places, his Irish pride insisted that he should give to the church, not take from it. But while he would never have entered the place for his own sake, no matter how dire his wound, he was not too proud for Cordelia and she was too hurt to be proud herself.

He carefully lifted her from the car's back seat. She whimpered softly at being moved, which encouraged Doyle to no end. It was the first sign of life she had showed since Angel had thrown her to the ground. But her skin was still frighteningly cold, her pulse frighteningly weak, and her breathing frighteningly shallow.

He whispered thanks the Powers That Be for automatic doors as he carried her into the clinic. The place was packed, but Doyle didn't notice, his eyes were on the nurse at the receptionist death. There was a line, but he didn't notice that either. He shoved his way to the nurse desperately, still the nurse did not seem impressed.

"She needs help," He said, not thinking anything else needed to be said.

"What did she take?" the nurse asked crossly.

"Wha?"

"Acid? Powder? What?"

"No," Doyle said, shaking his head sadly. "She lost blood."

"How much blood?"

Doyle was to worried to be patient. "She didn't bleed into a measuring cup!"

"Calm down sir," the nurse said, a little tersely. "We will help her, but we need to know how to help her best."

"Yeah," Doyle nodded numbly. "Just do help her."

"Do you think she need's a blood transfusion?"

"Sure, I guess." Doyle said, not really knowing.

"Do you know her blood type?"

"No."

The nurse sighed, "She'll take O positive. How old is she?"

"Twenty-ish, I think."

"Twenty-ish?"

"Maybe a little younger."

"Alright," she sighed. "I don't suppose you'll be paying."

Doyle looked to the floor. 

"Take her into the third room on the right, we'll send someone in as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Doyle said earnestly.

The nurse managed to smile down at him, but it didn't hold for more than a second, still the smile meant the world to Doyle. "We'll do what we can."

Doyle nodded, and very carefully carried Cordelia, limp and cold, to the third room on the right and laid her on the examination table. A second later a burly nurse came in with bags of blood and water and lots of needles. He took Cordelia's arm and started sticking the girl with needles. Doyle took a step forward, "She's gonna be ok," he asked nervously. "Yeah?"

The nurse glared at him. "This is delicate work, patching people up, you know."

"Sorry," Doyle said softly, taking a step back, but not taking his eyes off of Cordelia.

The nurse finished his work. He turned to Doyle, looking very annoyed at humanity in general and the young man in specific. "Don't touch her, you got it."

"Sure," Doyle said, looking at the mussels about as big as his head. 

The Nurse glared at him. "Doctor will be in soon."

Doyle nodded. "T'anks."

The nurse didn't acknowledge Doyle beyond a grunt as he walked out of the little sterile room.

Doyle watched him go nervously. Once sure he was gone, the half-man found the courage to walk up to Cordelia's bed and, not touching her or her life saving equipment, look down at her colorless face with concern.

All of a sudden she moaned, a little louder than she had earlier, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Doyle," She said so softly he could barely hear it.

His heart jumped in his throat, "Rest easy, Princess," he said, as soon as he found the voice to say anything at all.

"Angel?"

"Shhh," He pushed the hair out of her eyes and mouth, forgetting the nurses instructions entirely. "You're safe."

"I'm cold."

Doyle looked around for a blanket, finding none he let his soft brown leather coat slip off his shoulders and carefully laid it over her slight, trembling, form. He made sure to avoid her arms, where the IV's were hooked up and prayed the Nurse with the big muscles would not notice his subtle change. "Better?"

"I'm so sleepy . . ." she slurred.

"Go to sleep."

"Ok," her eyes started to slip shut, but before they were fully closed they flickered open again. "Doyle," she said with some urgency.

"Yeah,"

"You'll be here when I wake up, right? I mean you're not going to leave me."

"Not for the world darlin'"

"Good," she mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

Doyle continued to lean over her, swallowing hard, trying not to burst into tears of fear. 

"Hello," a very stressed out voice said behind him. Doyle nearly had a heart attack as he spun around to see a young female doctor, no older than thirty, who looked nearly burned out. "I'm Doctor Clay, I'll be processing you today."

"Processing?" Doyle asked, a bit unnerved.

"Ah, an immigrant _not_ from Mexico." She said, with a hint of a smile on her face as she glided across the room and stood next to the bed. "Novel. Now, go stand over there, where you're not in the way and tell me what's wrong with her."

Doyle obeyed. "She lost some blood."

"How much blood?" The doctor said coldly as she checked Cordy's pulse and blood pressure. 

"Why does everyone think I'd know tha?"

"Right," the doctor clipped. She felt her forehead and looked into her eyes. "Uh-hun," she wrote something down on her chart. "Yeah, okay."

"Will she be alright?" Doyle asked nervously.

"Don't know her blood type do you?"

"Ah, no."

"Well, we're just gonna have to stick with O positive then," Clay said. "The body has about nine liters of blood in it. From the look of it she lost two, maybe three."

"But she'll be alright, yeah?"

Dr. Clay sighed. One more abusive boy friend thinking of consequences after actions, when it was way too late. "I don't see any wounds? Where was she bleeding from?"

"Dere," he said, pointing to the gash on her neck.

"A neck wound?" She said, curiously. She figured the Irish man as a thug, someone who just might have stabbed the girl in a fit of passion or something, but bite her neck? This was something bigger. "Hum, interesting."

"See a lot of those?" Doyle asked nervously.

"Yeah," She said. "No one will talk but I think there's a vampire cult or something."

"Cult, really?"

She tuned to look at him with perceptive eyes toned by years of worldly wisdom. "What do you know about it?"

"What?" Doyle laughed nervously. "Me, know? Nothing."

"Yeah? And what does she know about it?"

"Nothing, less then nothing, she doesn't even know there's nothing she knows."

"Right," she said nodding sarcastically. "I think, while she's hooked up, getting the transfusion, I'm going to call the police."

"No," Doyle said, his heart was in his throat and the horror he felt couldn't even be expressed. "You can't."

"Give me a good reason why not. Your girlfriend is hurt and I've seen at least twenty cases just like this." Doyle blinked and looked away. Clay raised her voice, she was getting through. "You know about this, and you know more people will get hurt."

"I know," Doyle said with a lot of fear and determination in his voice. "But I also know that the guy who hurt her will kill us if he finds us."

"Everything can be completely confidential . . ."

Doyle shook his head, "Not good enough."

"You're going to run and hide?"

"Basically, yeah," Doyle said, forcing a smile. "I'm good at tha'."

"I can't, in good conscious, let you take her. She needs to be hospitalized."

"You're absolutely right, she does. But what good is a hospital if you're dead in an hour," Doyle insisted. "I know how and where to hide from his kind."

"His kind?"

"I know I can do it, and I know that I can protect her better than anyone else."

"You know _all_ of these things?"

"For a fact."

"You're probably on crack," The doctor sighed turning back to her chart. "But I believe you. We can transfuse a liter of blood, at most, into her." Before Doyle could say anything she quickly added, "I know she needs more, but that's all we can spare. It should take a couple of hours. Then you can go."

"T'anks." Doyle choked out, with relief. "Really."

"Yeah, yeah," The doctor muttered. "I'm still gonna need some basic information."

"Like what?" Doyle asked nervously.

"Her name."

"Cor . . ." Doyle started, then stopped. He knew Angel and accordingly Angelus, better than the watchers, better than Buffy, quite possibly better then Angel himself. If he knew Cordelia was alive, she would not stay that way for long. 

"Her name is Cor?"

"Cor . . ah . . .ina."

"Corina?"

"Yeah."

"Right," she said, sarcastically. "So who are you?"

"Ah, Manny."

"Manny, un-hun. Let me guess, you have a kid named Emily."

Doyle blinked, "No."

"You got a last name?"

"Smith."

"That her last name?"

"No," he licked his lips, he hated lying, he knew he was horrible at he could see the doctor wasn't buying it. But it was the only option he saw. "It's Jones."

"Corina Jones, and Manny Smith," she nodded, writing it down on the chart. "Insurance."

"We work for a small company."

"Of course, why else would you be here," she remarked snidely as she wrote something on the chart.

Doyle glanced at Cordy, still trembling under his coat. The tidal waves of emotion that had been washing over him since they had seen Angel tuned, fluxed into anger, and they came crashing down on the frustrated Dr. Clay. "You know, doctor, your bedside manner could use a little tweaking. I thought you were a Sister of Mercy why don't you act like one?"

"First off," Clay said, sounding like she was about to snap herself. "I'm not a Sister of Mercy, they pay me but until I take vows, ie hell freezes over, I'm a Doctor, and for your information your not my patient so I can treat you however the hell I want and if I don't have this basic information, I won't be able to help her at all."

"You know what's wrong with her," Doyle said, severely deflated. "Why do you have to know her name?"

"So I don't lose my license and am no longer able to help people without insurance," She clipped. Doyle could hear that she was really mad with the system, not with him.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, me too," She took a deep breath and looked at Cordelia. "She'll be alright," The doctor said kindly. "She'll be week, and tyered, and she'll need someone to take care of her for then next couple of days."

"I can do tha'," Doyle said egerly.

Dr. Clay nodded. "I think you can."

***

Angel watched, dutifully, as Trasserite the soul stealer climbed into his regeneration bath. The liquid smelled foul, and looked even worse. It was a sort of iridescent oily black that was almost the consistency of jello. The surface was covered by a heavy gray mist and three of the little hobgoblins kept stirring it with a long silver pole. 

"Do you wish to join me Angel?" He asked. "Nothing cleanses like this bath."

"No thank you," Angel said. "I prefer water."

"Suit yourself," the demon chuckled. "I'll be out when night falls. Then we can go out and see what the city of Angels has to offer."

"I can't wait," Angel said flatly.

The Demon laughed one more time before sinking beneath the dark mire. The hobgoblins scurried around tending to the bath, ignoring him completely. Angel counted two dozen of them working away. 

The vampire licked his lips and started, silently reciting ancient verse.

"Guarded by his minions he rests

Gaining strength during day

Readying for the night

Death can not reach him lest

Silver pierces him as he lay

Exterminating the blight"

The hobgoblins were little, but numerous. He needed to find a way to get them out of the picture. He remembered, just a few hours ago. There had been eight holding back Cordelia, and ten on Doyle. And even then they had been able to struggle quite a bit. 

At the thought of Cordelia Angel's body threatened to expel all of the blood he drank earlier. Shear force of will kept him from vomiting. Cordelia was alive, he assured himself, he had been very careful about that. And Doyle had been right there to take care of her. Keeping up appearances, for now, was more important than contrition. He couldn't let the hobgoblins know what he planed until he was well into it. He took a deep breath, resigning himself to the idea that he couldn't plan an attack totally, only in part. He didn't know what the hobgoblins could do, what they would risk for their master and what they could do to kill. But, Angel reminded himself, that is the risk of a warrior. 

The Hobgoblins were relaxed, or at least they seemed to be. They certainly weren't expecting their master's new pet to attack them. He took a quick breath and then the massacre began. Six had their necks broken before anyone noticed. Another six jumped on him, three of which he threw against the wall, three of which he dragged with him as he ran over to the dark pool and grabbed the silver pole, throwing the three stirring hobgoblins against the wall in the act. He stabbed skewered another two hobgoblins with the pole and then he felt the three that had been clinging to him drop. He turned to see the injured ones and the few that had been clever enough not to attack in the first place run away, terrified.

Angel stood for a moment panting. "That was easy."

He turned towards the dark pool. Trasserite was under there regenerating. Angel took the silver pole and jabbed it into the dark mire. He repeated the action over and over, so many times he lost count. He numbly watched the black goo slowly changing color as the demon's white blood seep to the top. He was killing the demon because what he had done to countless millions over thousands of years and for what he had made Angel do to Cordelia a few hours ago. He lost track of time as he stabbed the demon he couldn't see, finally Angel dropped the silver pole and staggered backwards. He fell onto his hands and knees, gaging. Cordelia's blood came out of his mouth in spurts along with stomach acids that burned his throat and mouth as his soul punished him for doing what he thought was best to defeat evil.

***

Doyle parked the car in the middle of a very sunny parking lot. There were no shadows for at least a hundred yards. He knew that didn't make it safe, but it made him feel better as he ran to the juice shop and ran back to the car in three minutes, very relieved to find Cordelia resting, untouched. 

He got into the front seat and leaned over, shaking her arm gently to wake her. She looked a world better after her little blood transfusion. She was still deathly pail, but her lips had found color and she was no longer trembling visibly.

"Up and at 'um Cordy," he said kindly. "Snack time."

Slowly she opened her eyes and pushed herself into a somewhat slouched sitting position. "Whow," she said, putting her hand to her head. She closed her eyes again, trying to find equilibrium.

"Doctor said to keep you hydrated, and all this sun isn't helping any," Doyle said, handing her a large Carrot/nutmeg/banana shake. Personally Doyle thought that carrots and bananas had no business being combined. But Californians had wild and crazy ideas, probably as a result of breathing smog for years, and for some reason Cordelia liked the odd combination. 

"Thanks," she said, accepting the drink and sipping the orange sludge. "Doctor?"

Doyle blinked, "You don't remember?"

Cordelia's brow wrinkled with concern. Until now she hadn't realized that there was anything she had forgotten. "I remember waiting for Angel," she said softly. "Did I fall asleep?"

Doyle opened his mouth, to try and tell her what she had missed but he couldn't find the words.

Cordelia, being an astute student of the human animal, saw immediately that it was not something she wanted to remember, "Oh my God," she said softly. "What happened?" She gasped, "Is Angel dead?"

"Not quite, Darlin'," Doyle said, saying so much more.

"Oh my god," she whimpered again. She stared at the straw for her juice drink for a moment before looking back up at him. "What do we do?"

"Hide," Doyle said, swallowing hard. "And hope he doesn't find us."

"We can't," Cordy said.

"Wha'da'ya mean we can't?" Doyle demanded, then softer he added, "we have to."

"Be realistic," Cordy said. "The last time he turned evil, he almost dragged the entire world into hell. Even if we do manage to escape him were not going to be able to . . . escape him."

"So we die?" Doyle asked, "I can't say I approve of that plan."

They sat in the hot sun for a moment, trying not to ponder the doom that seemed inevitable After a moment Cordy looked up with a start. "Willow!"

Doyle glanced up, thinking that lack of blood to the brain was playing some fun tricks on Cordy's mental processes. "I don't see a tree helping us much, unless you're talking about a stake, and even then . . ."

"NO," Cordelia insisted. "Last time Angel went evil Willow got him his soul back, and then he went straight to hell, but if the whole hell thing hadn't kicked in, he would have been good a gold."

"Your friend Willow?" Doyle asked, "In Sunnydale."

"I wouldn't call her my friend."

"But she can do it," Doyle said excitedly. "She can give him his soul back."

"In theory," Cor said, trying to remember if there was anything more complicated that she had forgotten. But thinking was not as easy as it should have been, it made her dizzy. "If nothing else, Buffy is in Sunnydale, if we can't make him better, she can kill him."

"Can she?"

"Well, at least she'd have a prayer."

"Right," Doyle nodded. "Sunnydale it is."

***

"Cordelia," Angel said, griping the telephone receiver with almost crushing strength. "I know you think I'm evil, but I'm not, and I know that you probably would rather have wild horses drag you naked through the desert than talk to me, and I don't blame you. I'm so . . . sorry, and I need to talk to you, explain everything. If you want to do it over the phone, or any other place you feel safe, that's fine. I understand I just need to explain everything." He held the phone to his ear in the false hope that just maybe she would pick up the receiver and talk, but she didn't. "You know where to find me . . . Bye," Angel said softly before hanging up. He had the most horrible feeling that would be the last thing he ever would say to her.

He looked at the phone for a moment before dialing Doyle's number. The half-demon tended to want to miss most of the calls he received, and as a result he did not have an answering machine. After twenty minutes of the phone ringing Angel gave up.

If he really wanted to find Cordelia, he knew he would be able to, but Doyle new how to disappear. Angel was beginning to think that his plan, which seemed to be the quickest, safest way was really the worse thing he possibly could have done. He stared at the ceiling, there was nothing on it. He blinked and stared at the outer office, there was no one in it. He had the phantom taste of Cordelia's blood in his mouth and he felt like gagging again. Instead he stood up, grabbed his coat and went for a walk.

Half an hour later he found himself wandering around the bullpen of L.A.'s 14th precinct station house. He searched the room for Kate, desperately seeking a friendly face. He did, eventually, see her, but she saw him first.

"Angel!" she exclaimed, running up to him. "What the hell is going on, you're friend Doyle left a really freaky message on my voice mail about you turning evil," she was smiling, but Angel saw she was as frightened by the Irishman's enigmatic message as she was amused by it. "He told me to run away from you if you found me."

"I'm sorry about that," Angel said, trying to figure out just how much he could afford to explain. "I need to find them, and I was wondering if you could help me."

"No," Kate said flatly, almost laughing at him. "Doyle wasn't making much sense, but he was frightened, and he said you almost killed your secretary. Angel, if this stuff is true . . ."

"It's a misunderstanding," Angel assured her. "The last thing I want is for either of them to get hurt. I need your help to find them so we can work everything out."

"He was scared," Kate insisted. "And I'm to good of a cop to lead you to him."

"You can do whatever you have to make them feel safe, I don't care if you put me in a straight jacket and lock me in an interrogation room with the three of you on the other side of the mirror. I just need to talk to them."

"What happened?" Kate asked. Doyle had been very passionate about avoiding Angel at all costs, and now Angel was being very passionate at finding Doyle, at all cost. She hardly knew Angel at all, and she knew Doyle even less. But, as odd as it was, she believed them both, which left her with a paradox.

Angel sighed, how could he explain without delving into the demonic world. "They're right," Angel admitted. "For this one case I had to do a little undercover work, it was a last minute decision and I never had a chance to explain it to them."

"He said you tried to kill Cordelia."

"I tried not to kill her," Angel said, feeling sick to his stomach again. "Yes, I hurt her, and I wish to God that I hadn't. But I was very careful, and I need to tell her that." Angel paused as Kate looked at him with very large, blue, beautiful, but most of all, perceptive eyes. "There my only friends," Angel said softly. "I can't lose them."

"You'd be wrong there," Kate said matter of factly, "I'm your friend."

Angel smiled without realizing it. "Thank you." 

Kate tried not to smile, "Don't mention it." She walked over to her desk and crisply sat down in front of her computer, Angel sat in the chair next to the desk, looking at her. 

"So," Kate asked. "Where do you want to start?"

***

"Cordy," Doyle said softly, nudging her. "Time to wake up."

"Wha?" She groaned her eyes slowly opening to see Doyle look down at her concerned. "Are we there?"

"I'm afraid not Princess," Doyle said, gently taking her forearms and helping her into a sitting position. "We're spending the night here."

"Here?" Cordy asked. Her vision was blurry, but she appeared to be in a parking deck, "where's here?"

"Santa Monica," Doyle said helping her into a standing position. "We got a hotel across town."

"What?" Santa Monica was no where near Sunnydale, it wasn't even in the same direction. Cordelia snapped her head around to yell at Doyle for being stupid but a wave of dizziness momentarily disabled her. She swooned and would have fallen if not for Doyle's attentiveness.

"Take it easy, Darlin'," Doyle warned. "You're not quite up to you're regular self yet."

"I thought we were going to Sunnydale."

"We are," Doyle explained, half leading, half carrying her, to the elevator. "But if Angel wants to track us the easiest way to would be tracking his car. All he has to do is tell the police it was stolen,"

"Which is pretty much the truth," Cordy mused.

"And he's got a man looking out for us on every highway."

"That doesn't explain what we're doing in Santa Monica."

"The basic principle is doubling back. Angel figures out his car is in Santa Monica, he figure's we're here too, so he comes . . ."

"For the killing and the torture."

Doyle glanced at her nervously, "Yeah, but by the time he gets there we're safe and sound, in Sunnydale, a hundred miles away, casten spells and regaining misplaced souls."

"With his car, won't he be able to find us?"

"No."

Cordy laughed nervously. "Are we walking to Sunnydale."

"We're taking a bus,"

"A bus?" Cordy said nauseously. "I don't do busses."

"Well you do today, Sweetheart," They exited the parking deck. It was about five o'clock and still bright out as they walked along the warm Santa Monica street. 

"So where is this hotel?" Cordy asked.

"Crosstown," Doyle muttered.

"What?"

"Across town," he said, a little clearer.

"Across town!" She exclaimed. "Couldn't we have parked a little closer?"

"In case you've forgotten we're hiddin'. Which means we want everything that Angelus can trace as far away from us as possible."

"Do . . ." Cor stuttered softly. "Do you have to call him Angelus?" She asked. "I mean we might get him back, and then won't you feel foolish?"

Doyle nodded. "Yeah, the fool that's me." He smiled at her. "Angel it is."

"Good," she said, leaning her arm on his shoulder. "I feel a little light headed."

"Hold tight, Darlin'" Doyle said, trying not to be bewitched by the sensation of her hair on his cheek. "Bus'll be here any minute."

"That's all I need," Cordy mumbled. "Another bus."

Two busses and a short walk latter the pair stood in front of 'Sea Side Motel', which was at least three miles away from the sea and prominently advertised hourly rates and color t.v.

"We're staying here?" Cordy asked a little frightened. "I've seen roach hotels with more class."

"This place may not be the Hollywood Hilton, but you can't beat the location."

"Between the bus station and the Dunkin Donuts, and across the street from Walmart."

"Exactly, and the price is pretty sweet to."

"Sweet is the last word I would use."

"We're on a budget Princess, I only found a hundred dollars stuffed in Angel's glove compartment."

"You found a hundred dollars stuffed in Angels glove compartment!"

"Shhh," Doyle scolded softly. "Bus tickets cost twenty dollars a piece, and foods not exactly cheap you know." 

"I hate being poor," Cordy muttered.

Doyle turned and looked at Cordelia's face framed in the golden afternoon light. "Well," Doyle said, "It builds character."

Cordy looked over at the poor Irishman and compared his face, silhouetted against the blue, open, California sky, to the faces of the rich guys she had payed attention to her enter life. They weren't much different, really, when you got down to it. If you ignored the clothes they looked the same, with the possible exception of Doyle's deep gray eyes. And she had to admit that she would rather talk to Doyle for a minute that with the preppy boys for an hour. 

"Y'alright?" He asked concerned.

"What?"

"You look a little," Doyle licked his lips, trying to find words, "odd. You don't feel dizzy again?"

Cor was about to tell him she was thinking, but that wasn't quite a road she was prepared to go down. "Yeah," she said simply. "We might as well go in."

***

"What are you doing?" Cordy asked groggily. She had drifted to sleep to the subtle humor of 'The Odd Couple' reruns. They had been sitting on the double bed, the only bed in the room, and when he moved she suddenly felt cold.

"Going to sleep," Doyle yawned as he grabbed on of the beds pillows and settled on the floor. "I haven't slept for about two days."

"Oh," she said softly, yawning herself. "But why are you on the ground?"

Doyle propped himself up on his elbows. "Well, the way I figger, It's either here or the bathtub."

Cordelia didn't quite understand, she just looked down on him, blinking.

"Now, it all comes down to what I value," Doyle continued, staring hard at the green shag carpet. "Comfort or cleanliness. Off had, as you can see, I'm going for comfort. But now that you've brought it to my attention, the bathtub sounds better."

"Why not just sleep on the bed?" Cordy asked timidly.

"Scuse me?" Doyle asked, his voice cracking just a little. "You didn't just ask what I thought you asked . . . did you?"

"It's just really cold." she explained, looking down at him with her big brown eyes.

"I could turn off the air conditioner," Doyle offered.

It wasn't that kind of cold, she thought. "Ok," Cor relented, turning her head away from him as she slumped into her bed. She had been sleeping all day, and while she was still tired, she wasn't sleepy at the moment. She closed her eyes and listened to him swear softly at the air conditioner before he kicked it and the slow hiss of air finally relented. Then she heard him double check all the locks and, through her closed eye lids, she noticed when he turned off the lights.

"Goodnight Doyle," She said, feeling very alone in the strange bed.

"Goodnight Princess," he yawned back.

Cordelia rolled over to her side. He always called her Princess, he always had. It was a casual nickname that neither of them ever thought about. She marveled at that. She had been, through her entire life, a queen. Her father had even paid of the man at the DMV to get her a license plate 'Queen C'. She was queen of the school, queen of the social life, queen of the family, and queen of Sunnydale in general. She had been born a queen and until high school, or more accurately Buffy Summers, no one had been able usurp that position.

But that was all gone.

Now she wasn't a queen, she was a pauper. She had nothing and ruled over no one. But one person kept insisting that she was a princess. And as she thought about it, it made a kind of twisted sense. She believed she was a princess in the fairy tale sense. Sort of a Sleeping Beauty or a Snow White. Someone who was royalty, but had been lost, or was hiding. And someday her prince would come, and she would be royalty, be a queen, again. But right now she was a princess, and she had to admit that in her experience it was better than being a queen. You got to sing songs to the animals and dance through the forest and people loved you because of your good and pure heart, not because of your money or power, and Queens were usually wicked, while princesses were always good. Plus princesses got princes, handsome ones. Warm ones. Ones that would see that you were a princess, even though you were dressed like a peasant girl, or asleep under glass, or working in a vampire's office. Princes who loved you not because you were a queen or even a princess, because they never knew you as a queen, but because you were Cordelia. Princes who thought being Cordelia was enough to make you a princess in the first place. Princes who would give up a bed for you and instead sleep on the floor or in the bathtub. Princes who came from across the sea riding white horses or driving black cars and whispered poetry into your ear with a soft Irish accent.

Cordelia drifted off to sleep, dreaming of princes.

She woke up screaming, dreaming of monsters.

"Noooo," Cordelia screamed, "No, Angel stop!! Angel!!!"

Doyle woke up with a start and instinctively reached for the stake tucked safely beneath his pillow. He stumbled to his feet, propelled entirely by his protective instincts. He glanced around the room looking for what was left of his friend so he could kill it. But the room was empty, with the exception of Cordelia, alone in the bed, wrestling with her nightmare.

Doyle dropped the stake and ran to her side. He grabbed her shoulders and held them still.

"No!!" she screamed against the terror in her mind. "Let go of me! Stop!"

"Cordelia," Doyle said loudly. "Cordelia, wake up."

Her huge brown eyes snapped open. She stopped screaming, audibly, but Doyle could still see it in her eyes and it frightened him.

"It's alright," He said softly. "You were dreaming."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, it's not alright, and I wasn't dreaming." Her voice gained power as the screams in her eyes turned to tears. "It was real," she sobbed. "I remember it."

Doyle tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't. He decided to sit down on the bed and listen.

"I remember he grabbed the hair on the back of my neck and pulled, so that he could drink me. I remember it hurt so much when he put his fangs into me and started drinking. But then it got all numb and that scared me. I knew that my adrenaline was making my heart pump harder and faster, and it was like my own body was helping to kill me." She was shivering, and her skin was covered with goose bumps. Doyle tried to pull the blankets more securely around her, but it wasn't working. As his arms were stretched out, she leaned forward and started, literally, crying on his shoulder. Doyle didn't know quite what to do. Nervously, he put his arms around her trembling body and whispered in her ear, "Shhhhhhh, shhhhhh. S'allright, Princess. You're safe now."

"He ate me," she sobbed. "He tried to kill me."

"Shhhhh, shhhhh," Doyle started stroking her hair gently and rocking, oh-so-subtly, back and fourth as he hummed a ballade his grandmother had hummed to him when he was a baby. He had often thought that his grandmother would have liked Cordelia and he was glad to give her the only thing the saintly woman had ever given him.

"Tha mi sgììth 's mi leam fhììn, Buain na rainich, buain na rainich Tha mi sgììth 's mi leam fhììn, Buain na rainich daonnan

I am tired, and I am alone, Cutting the Bracken, Cutting the bracken I am tired, and I am alone, Cutting the Bracken forever"

When Cordelia's sobs turned to whimpers, and then to silence, Doyle assumed that she was asleep. He set her down on the bed and gently brushed her hair away from her face before turning back to his bed on the ground. But before he could take a step away from her, she grabbed his wrists and nearly gave him a heart attack.

"I thought you were asleep!" He stuttered once he had enough breath to say anything.

"Stay," she begged groggily. "I don't want to have nightmares."

"I can't chase those away darlin'." Doyle admitted sadly.

"I'm so cold."

Doyle swallowed hard. She was cold because of the blood loss, she didn't have enough warm blood flowing through her appendages, so they always felt like ice. It was ironic, really. Normally he was always the cold one, usually wearing two shirts and then a jacket on top of that while Cordy would parade around in a short skirt and sleeveless top. 

But in the hotel room that Doyle found kinda muggy, she was freezing. She looked so cold and small and weak. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Stay here," she said softly, scooting over so there was room for him on the bed. "Be warm."

Doyle nodded nervously. He had fantasied about this sort of thing multiple times. The two of them, alone, in a hotel room, and she inviting him into bed. But this was nothing like his fantasies, and he felt cheap for ever day dreaming about it. 

He slipped into the bed and wrapped his arms around the trembling girl. 

"Ummmmm," she said softly nuzzling closer to him.

Doyle tried to remember what men were supposed to do when beautiful women cuddled up to them, it had been so long. Four years. The night before his twenty-first birthday, he and Harry had celebrated his birthday a night early. It was their last night together, and was, debatably, his fondest and his saddest memory. 

It felt so good to have Cordelia in his arms. She was breathing softly on his chest and her hair tickled his cheek. He wondered if heaven would feel that way. He further wondered if demons could get into heaven. Of course, if, the day after that memorable knight and the years following, someone had told him he could get this close to heaven he would not have believed them.

***

Cordelia rolled over, it hurt. She didn't want to roll over again, but she was cold, and she knew that Doyle was somewhere on the bed. It wasn't that big, it shouldn't have been that hard to find him. He had been holding her as she drifted off to sleep, and maybe she was naive, but she had expected him to be there when she woke up. Wasn't that the general agreement? That if someone let you fall asleep in their arms, they would be there smiling at you when you woke up. 

"Doyle?" she muttered, pushing herself to her shoulders. Her head swam, but she barely noticed. She needed to find him. "This isn't funny!" she insisted, "Doyle?"

There was no answer. 

She found the strength to push herself out of bed and she felt woozy. She took deep breaths and forced herself to not faint. She searched the room, all ten square feet of it, including the slightly furry bathroom. 

She circled the room twice and he wasn't there either time. She started to feel sick, why did he leave? What possibly could have happened? She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. "He wouldn't just leave," she assured herself. "He probably went to do . . . something."

But they were hiding. where would he go when they were hiding? Part of her said, don't worry, how far could he have gone? She was afraid to admit that it was pretty far. Doyle was a coward, she knew that. He was good at running and hiding. And, from her own experience , she knew that it's easiest to hide if you're alone. She wanted very much to believe that he was going to come back, but if he was at all interested in his own survival, it would have been vary clever of him to lull her to sleep and then take the car and run, leaving her alone and helpless in a strange city.

"No!" she said forcefully. "Doyle's a good guy. He wouldn't do that!"

"Wouldn't do what?" 

Cordelia squeaked and spun around to see Doyle standing in the door holding a Dunken Donuts bag in one hand and Walmart bag in the other.

"Where did you go?" she demanded angrily. 

"Out," Doyle said, setting the bags down on the cheep motel table. He kicked the door shut before turning to her with a smile. "Got breakfast."

"Donuts?" She said excitedly, taking a step closer.

"Here," he handed her a donut with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, the kind of donut that could make even Angel smile because it was so childish and cheery, and a carton of milk.

"Thanks," She said, fiddling with the weak cardboard on the milk carton.

Doyle got out a sprinkle donut and milk of his own and started munching. "You know," she said, when her donut was mostly gone. "You could'a left a note or something."

"Wha?"

"I mean," she continued, trying very hard to pretend that this was not the most important thing in the world to her at the moment. "Most of the time, when two people fall asleep together, it's generally expected that they'll . . . wake up together too."

"Oh, Well then," he stuttered. "I'm sorry. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."

"Right," Cordy nodded. It was the oldest line in the book and she knew it. "I'm just saying for the future."

"Future."

"It's something you should know," she said harshly, showing her frustration and anger for the first time.

"Yeah," Doyle said, complimented that she cared that much. "I'll keep that in mind. But if we ever want to realize that glorious future, we have a bus to catch."

Cor sighed. "How long."

"About fourty-five minutes." Doyle said, looking into the Walmart bag. "Here," he said, pulling an odd shaped purple-plastic thing out of the bag. "I got these for you." He tossed it at her, and somewhat fumbling, she caught it.

It was a mirror, comb and brush set, Walmart brand. The sticker was still on it: three fifty on special. But it was something that, had she had the chance to think of, she desperately wanted. Doyle had thought of it.

"Thank you," she said softly, trying not to let her voice show how much the gift meant to her.

"Oh, don't mention it." _Damn it, he knew!_

"So," she said, trying to regain the aloof superiority that had slipped in the last day or so. "Did you buy any thing to drink?"

"Yeah," Doyle said, reaching again into the Walmart bag. "I got a case of Sunny Delights."

She looked at him curiously. "Those are disgusting."

"I know," he grumbled. "But the doctor said that the best thing for you was juice, and this was the best I could do."

Cordy blinked, "Thanks," she said again, rather curiously, "But I meant for you."

Doyle smiled, "Don't I wish, but we have to set priorities. As much as I would like a little Southern Comfort right now, I think I'd like dinner once we get to Sunnydale a little more."

"Right," she said, suddenly feeling guilty for the brush in her hand.

"Are you going to take a shower?" Doyle asked as he crumpled up his finished milk carton and threw it into the trash can.

"Are you?"

"Took one earlier," Doyle explained.

"While I was asleep," she finished, slapping the back of the mirror onto the palm of her hand. "Right," she spun around, looking for a bag she didn't have. Once she realized that she was holding her sole possession she turned back to Doyle. "Ok, how long do we have?"

"Now? About forty minutes, and that's when we have to be on the bus."

She nodded. "I'll be out in ten."

***

Hours later Doyle gazed at the landscape of the perfect American Town threw the bus window. "So," he asked casually. "This is the Hellmouth."

"Yeah," Cordy said. "Sunny Dale in all it's glory." She hadn't been back for months and while she didn't quite feel nostalgic about the mansion on the hill, or the cemetery, or the torched high school, or even the street she used to live on. 

"Is it like you remember it?"

"Exactly."

"It's nice to know somethings don't change." Doyle said. "Makes it easier to go home."

"Sunnydale isn't home," Cordy explained. "It hasn't been for a while."

"Well then where is home?"

She shruged, "I don't know. I guess I don't have one." She turned to him. "Where's you home?"

"I don't know," Doyle said, "I guess I've avoided being tied down for the past few years."

"Not that there is anything wrong with having a home," Cordelia said as they started to drive through the lower rent part of town, where Buffy, Willow, and eventually Xander lived. "But I don't think it can be tied to a place." She turned to Doyle, "I think it kinda has more to do with the people."

"You know Princess," Doyle said as the buss slowed and turned into the station. "I think you might be right."

They walked off of the bus into Sunnydale's twilight. Something made the pair stop and look around them with wonder. Cordelia was amazed by how familiar and how foreign something could be at the same time. She had grown up in the little town, she knew it so completely, and yet, she felt like a foreigner surrounded by the familiar. Doyle was amazed by how completely normal, even innocent the place looked. He didn't expect sulphur and brimstone, but neither had he expected tulips and picket fences.

"What now?" he asked, looking around. He would have felt more comfortable around sulphur and brimstone.

Cordy took a deep breath and solidified her determination. "We call Xander."

"Xander?" Doyle asked, following her over to a pay phone. "I thought we were looking for, ah, Willow."

"We are," Cordy said neatly. "But Willow's off at college and I don't know her number."

"And, ah, you know this Xander's number?"

"We went out for like . . . a year," she said dismissively.

"A year," Doyle nodded, he was getting a little nervous. "That's a long time. Can I ah, ask why you broke up?"

Cordelia stared at the phone and saw Willow and Xander on the bed, making out. Her stomach started to hurt. "He was a jerk," she said. 

"Why'd you go out with him so long then?" Doyle asked. He saw her try not to react emotionally to the subject. He didn't know when they had broken up, but it had to be months, at least, and she still had open wounds. Doyle, who had been playing the role of the protector since Angel went bad, approximately thirty-six hours ago, was starting to feel very protective about this too.

"I guess he wasn't really a jerk," she said, still examining the phone. "Not deep down, just . . . I guess he didn't know what he wanted." She turned to Doyle with sharp eyes, "So he took a little of everything."

"Another woman?"

Cordy nodded. "His best friend," She took a deep breath. "But that was like, a lifetime ago."

"Right," Doyle said, nodding with support.

Cordy picked up the receiver and started pushing buttons with newfound resolve. She listened to the receiver for a moment before turning to Doyle, "Oh, I forgot, do you have any change?"

The Irishman sighed and popped in the obligatory 35 cents. She redialed and quickly burst into a smile.

"Hello Mrs. Harris," She said cordially. "This is Cordelia Chase, could I talk to Xander?"

"Oh, hello, sweety," Xander's mom said. "He's got a new girlfriend now."

Cordy blinked, "Well that's nice," she said slowly. "Can I still talk to him?"

"She likes him a lot more than you ever did," Mrs Harris said, her voice was beginning to turn nasty.

"Good for him." Doyle watched as Cordelia's brow wrinkled.

"She's not too good to come over to the house."

"I really do need to talk to Xander," Cor insisted. "It's really important. Matter of life and death, in fact."

"She's over right now, maybe you would like to talk to her."

"NO!" Cordy said forcefully, then with more grace, "Really, I just want to talk to Xander."

"Anya, dear," Mrs. Harris purred. "Phone for you."

"Oh God," Cordy moaned, leaning her head against the wall.

"Hello?" a familiar, but not familiar enough to recognize, voice asked. "What do you want?"

"Hi, this is Cordelia Chase, I really want to talk to Xander."

"Cordelia?" Anya asked. She was sitting in the basement, looking at Xander. His face betrayed shock, and Anya wasn't sure if it was good, why-is-she-calling-I'm-so-over-her shock, or bad, at-long-last-the-only-woman-I-have-ever-loved-is-contacting-me-again shock. She intended to stay on the phone and watch Xander until she was sure. "You can't talk to Xander, he's with me now."

"Wait," Cordy stuttered. "Who are you?"

"Anya," She said. "Remember, we went to high school together. Well, at least that last part of it."

"Anya from high school?" Cordy said, suddenly placing her. "Maybe I have you mistaken for someone else, but weren't you a man hating vengeance demon?"

"Anya?" Xander asked. "Could I maybe talk to Cordy?" He was ignored.

"Well I was," Anya growled. "What's your point?"

"Nothing," Cordy said, "I just need to talk to Xander."

"No," Anya insisted. "He's mine."

"I really think I should talk," Xander insisted.

"And you're welcome to him, really. I just want to talk to him."

"That's how it starts, but soon I'll find you an him in a closet making out. I know how men are."

"Anya, give Xander the phone?" He said in a sing songy voice.

"I don't want Xander!" Cordelia insisted. "All I want is Willow's number!"

"Oh," Anya said. "Well, I guess that's ok then." She handed the phone to the man beside her without hesitation.

"Cordelia?" Xander asked. "I'm sorry about that, it's just . . ."

"My god, Xander!" Cordy practically yelled, Doyle took a step back. "You're dating a VENGEANCE DEMON??? I knew you had no standards, but really!"

Xander sighed, "Why are you calling? Getting bored in L.A.?"

"No, actually," She said. "I happen to be doing very well, my acting career is just about to take off."

"Cordy," Doyle said, drawing her attention away for a second. "It's getting dark and I, personally, don't like the idea of being out of doors at night when I'm on a hellmouth."

"Oh, right," she said. "Look, Xander, the deal is Doyle and I are here in Sunnydale."

"Doyle? Who's Doyle?"

"And we need to talk to Willow because Angel went all evil and we need to get his soul back."

"HE WHAT?"

"Don't spazz," Cordelia said. "I just need to call her up and . . ."

"Cast that spell that almost got her killed last time."

"Yeah," Cor said meekly. "But if that doesn't work we could just call Buffy."

"And what?" Xander demanded. "Tell her to stake the only man she's ever loved?"

Cordelia didn't have an answer for that.

"I doesn't matter anyway," Xander sighed. "She's not home."

"I know, she's at college."

"No, she's at a family reunion in Arizona."

"What?"

"Yearly thing I guess, no way to get in touch with her."

"We're dead." Cordy said softly.

"Dead?" Doyle asked nervously.

Xander licked his lips and started talking quickly, "No, no, not necessarily."

"Oh, what?" Cor demanded harshly. "The little Scooby squad is going to defeat Angelus? As I remember the last time we tried to take him on the world nearly got sucked into hell, not to mention Mrs. Calender and the Jamaican slayer dying, Giles being tortured, you and Willow ending up in the intensive care unit while Buffy was being sought for questioning in a mass murder. Oh, yeah, I think we can take him."

"Maybe Giles knows where she is," Xander said. "I'll call him."

"Great," Cor said, she didn't know if she was being sarcastic or just frustrated. "Where should we meet? I assume the library's out of the picture."

"You know where Giles house is?"

"Yeah, I haven't been gone that long."

"Great, We'll meet there. I'll get Willow and Oz."

"Good, Willow, she can still cast a spell right?"

"Yeah, better than ever."

Cordy shivered. "Great, we'll meet you there."

"You and Doyle?" 

"Um-hum."

"And who's Doyle?"

"Goodbye Xander." She hung up the phone. Turning to Doyle she said, "We're supposed to meet everybody at Giles's."

"And where exactly might that be?"

Cordy glanced around her, she had never really spent that much time in the poorer parts of Sunny Dale, but in a town so small it wasn't hard to figure out where you were and where you have to go. "Follow me," she said, heading definitively down the street. 

Doyle did follow, for a little less then a block, then, as Cordy began to slow down, he jogged up to her and linked his arm in hers as they walked down the perfect small town street at dusk.

"That's where Amy lived," Cordy said, Giving Doyle a nickel's worth tour of her home town as they walked to Giles's. "She's a rat now, but she used to be a witch and Giles and I had to save her, Buffy, and Willow from being burned at the stake from these two cute little kid demons."

"Cute little kid demons?" Doyle asked skeptically. 

"Well, first they were these cute little kids, then they were a demon."

"And, uh, when did they burn Amy, Buffy, and ah, Willow, at the stake?"

"Oh they didn't," Cordelia said, looking at Doyle like he was crazy. "Their parents did."

"Their parents?"

"Well, not Amy's mom, cause she's in a trophy."

"In a trophy?"

"Uh-hun," Cor said, nodding. "I'd show it to you but I think it got toasted at graduation. Oh," she squeaked, "Speaking of which, there is city hall, where our snake-like Mayor worked."

"Politicians, eh," Doyle scoffed.

"No, really, he was a snake, or at least he turned into a snake, before we killed him."

"Oh." Doyle said softly. He liked Sunnydale less and less the more he knew about it.

"Oh my God!" Cordelia screamed.

"What!" Doyle said, reaching in his pocket for the stake, prepared to fight whatever witch, statue, snake, or child-demon she saw.

"Harm!" she screeched, running up to a well dressed blond hanging out down the block.

"Cordy!" the blond screeched back, running to meet her friend.

"Oh my God," Cor screeched again, as Doyle cautiously walked up to the dangerous pair. "It's been like forever. Since graduation, how was your summer?"

"I didn't go to France," Harmony said, disappointed.

"I'm sorry," Cordy said earnestly, "I know how much you we're looking forward to that."

"Cordelia," Doyle said nervously reaching out for her. "I think you should take a step back."

"What's that?" Harm asked, looking past her old friends shoulder and neck to the worried Irishman behind her.

"Oh, it's just Doyle," Cor said, totally missing both of her friend's tones. "How have you been?"

"You know, when Principal Snyder said that it was the first day of the rest of our lives I thought he was just being, you know, dumb, but it's so true!"

"Oh," Cor said. "I know, totally!"

"Cordelia," Doyle said grabbing on to her arm and trying to pull her away from her friend. "Don't we have to _be_ somewhere?"

"God!" Cordy snapped. "What is your problem! Can't I talk to an old friend?"

Doyle gaped at her. True, he was half demon, and had a sense for these kind of things, but still, how could Cordelia not see it. "She's a vampire!"

"Phiffff," Cordy said, glancing back at her very concerned friend. "I've known Harmony forever."

"Yeah," Harm chimed in. "Cordelia's my friend, I would never kill her."

Cor slowly turned to Harmony, who, now that she noticed, was very pale for someone who spent more time tanning than studying in high school. "What did you say?"

"I mean I might change you," Harm blabbered on, not noticing how Cordelia was inching backwards and Doyle was inching forwards with as stake in his hand. "Cause it's so much fun and I would love to have a girl friend to bumb around with cause I used to have this boyfriend but then he tried to kill me and he left but he didn't have any sense of style or anything."

"Maybe later," Cor said, once she was safely behind Doyle and his stake. 

"Well I wouldn't do it now," she said. "I have to get to the bronze, there's supposed to be a really hot rave there tonight, plus, and don't get mad, but your blood smells kinda gross right now, like it's not all yours, and you really don't have that much of it. And your friend's blood is even grosser, like a demons, only not quite."

"Un-hun," Cor said, they had moved in a semi-circle around Harmony and were backing away. "Well we really have to get going."

"Maybe we could get together while you're still in town."

"Maybe," Cor said dismissively. "Bye."

"Bye!" Harmony chimed as she ran across the street in the general direction of the bronze.

"Great friend you have there," Doyle said as he turned to look at Cordelia, who seemed to be in a state of shock. "Y'allright?"

"I grew up with her," Cor said softly. "We've been friends since kindergarten."

"I'm sorry."

Cordy nodded, "I'm cold," she said, pressing her body a little closer to his. "Giles house isn't that far now."

***

"So Cordelia just called up and said she needed to see us?" Willow asked confused. "I didn't even know she was back in town."

"I don't like it," Anya said.

"Did she say why it was so urgent?" Giles asked. Cordelia storming into town and calling an emergency meeting of the Scooby squad boded ill.

"Something about Angel being evil," Xander said. "And does anyone know who Doyle is?"

"Evil!" Willow said, her voice squeeking just a little. "Not evil-evil, right? Just crankie evil?"

"She didn't sound all together," Xander quickly added trying to comfort Willow. He wasn't fond of Angel good, but he had to admit that, upon reflection, Angel evil was worse. "She was probably just a little loopy."

"Evil Angel and Good Angel are pretty much night and day," Oz observed. "You would have to be pretty loopy to mistake one for the other."

"She said he was evil," Anya said flatly, makeing it quite clear what kind of evil was under question.

"Buffy's not here?" Willow wimpered. "What are we suppose to do?"

"Stake him," Xander said simply, "The real question here is who the hell is Doyle?" 

"He works with them," Oz chimed. "Nice guy."

"How nice?" Xander said, leaning in.

"Xander," Anya scolded, pulling him back.

"He's got the Irish charm working for him," Oz said stoicly. 

"Oh god, he's Irish!" Xander said, panicking.

"Irish?" Anya said, "Hot tempered, or religious. They have funny wishes. Oh, like this one time a girl wished that her boy would go into the priesthood only to be caught having an affair with a nun. That was odd."

"Thanks," Xander said, patting the ex-demon on the knee. "Always appreciate your insights."

"Could we get back to the mattere at hand?" Giles demaned. He sighed, took off his glasses, and massaged the bridg of his nose. "Willow," Giles asked with the pacients of Gaundi. "Do you still have the Orb of Thesulah?"

"Yeah," she said, wrapping Oz's arm more tightly around her. "I kept it for sentimental purposes," her brow wrinkled, "I didn't plan on casting the spell again."

"We'll have to go to the magic shop first thing to get the . . ."

There was a knock and five pairs of eyes turned and looked at the heavy wooden door. There was a moment of hesitation before Giles cleared his throat, and walked across the room. Carefully, Giles's opened the door to see Cordelia, the black sheep of his little evil-fighting flock, smiling up at him with a meekness he had never seen in her before. She was as pale as death and leaning on a nervous, dark, man, who could only be Doyle.

"Hi Giles," she said sheepishly.

"Cordelia," He said, compassion lining the edges of his voice. "What happened?"

She opened her mouth to explain the most miserable 48 hours of her life when suddenly she burst into tears. She gasped for air, trying to find something solid in herself to hold on to, to give her strength and composure. But she had used all that up in the past couple of days, it took all her strength to stay standing, and even then she was leaning heavily on Doyle.

"She's exhausted," the young Irishman explained. "Past two days have been a hell of a time. And I mean that in the most literal of ways."

"I believe you," Giles said kindly, reaching out and taking Cordelia out of Doyle's arms. He led her through the small living room, where four of her friends watched silently. She didn't notice. Doyle did, however, as he followed her and Giles. He glanced at the four people, summing them up in a glance, even as they summed him up.

Oz he knew, and he had to assume that the girl next to him was Willow, the witch who was at present, their only hope. The other boy must have been Xander, whom he knew a lot about, and the girl next to him, Anya, whom he knew nothing about. At the same time he could feel them analyze him, and it was uncomfortable, but he didn't have time for that. He dutifully followed Giles and Cordy into a spare bedroom.

Giles helped her into the bed and covered her with an Afghan. She was asleep almost immediately. 

"Perhaps you can tell me what happened," Giles asked softly, so not to wake her.

Doyle had been under the impression that this evil-fighting group was big on teamwork, that everything was done in public meetings, so he had not expected a private meeting. But, truth be told, he was more comfortable talking in hushed voices in a dimly lit room than in front of a group of edger college students. That certainly would have been a preference a lifetime ago, but things change.

The half-demon leaned over Cordelia's resting form and brushed away her dark hair to revile the unmistakable scars of a vampire's bite.

"So," Giles said, swallowing the fear and anger he felt. "It's true."

"If by it you mean the fact of Angel being evil, yeah."

"How did it happen?"

"Well he bit her and he drank her blood," Doyle explained. "Isn't that how these things usualy happen?"

"No, I meant, how did Angel lose his soul?"

Doyle paused, finally he muttered "I'da'know." He looked up at the ex-watcher trying to discover how much he could be trusted with. He came to the conclusion Giles could be trusted with most anything.

"Two nights ago," he started. "Angel went to go kill this demon. He said he'd be back in ten minutes, after three hours we got worried." He looked up at Giles, expecting some sort of reaction, but he was listening intently so Doyle continued. "We followed him in and we, ah, we found him."

"How did you escape?"

"He just left," Doyle said, seriously thinking about the night for the first time. "I guess I figured he saved the taunting for later, you know, stretch out the fun."

"That would seem to be part of his pattern," Giles muttered. "Does he know you came here?"

"No," Doyle said, shaking his head. "I dumped the car in Santa Monica and doubled back. He shouldn't have any idea." He licked his lips and looked up at Giles. "At least I hope he doesn't."

***

"Angel," Kate said smiling as the tall dark and handsome man walked up to her desk.

"Kate," he said, matching her greeting in tone and feeling. "You said you had something for me."

"We found your car."

"Where?"

"Santa Monica," she said. "It was abandoned in a parking lot. The attendant is an old car buff so he remembered when it came in. He said he asked the driver for information about the car, the model etc. but he didn't know a thing." 

"Santa Monica?" Angel asked skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"The attendant said that the driver had an Irish accent and that there was a girl sleeping in the back seat. Sounds like a match to me."

"But why Santa Monica?" Angel wondered. It was close, relatively speaking. He could easily find them. "Why not keep the car and keep going?"

Kate shrugged, "Maybe they know someone in Santa Monica."

"Know someone," Angel muttered, "Of course!"

"Angel?" Kate asked, leaning forward in her desk.

"They do know someone, but not in Santa Monica, In Sunnydale."

"Sunnydale?" Kate asked, "Is that a suburb?"

"No," Angel said. "It's in the opposite direction. They left the car to throw me of the trail, they must have taken public transportation." He shook his head in admiration, "Doyle's good at this stuff."

"Throw you off the track?" Kate asked wit wonder, "What did you do to scare them so much?"

"Thanks Kate, I owe you."

"Give me an explanation and we'll call it even."

"Maybe some other time," he turned and started walking towards the door.

Kate stood up, thinking that maybe she could yell at him, or chase him down or make him do what she wanted him to. But almost as soon as the thought entered her head she realized how impossible it was. So, with a sigh, she slumped back into her chair and grunted, "Men!"

***

"I've got the Pizza," Xander announced as he entered the house where Giles, Doyle, and Cordelia had been sharing Angelus stories. 

"I've got the soda," Anya chimed following him.

"I've got the orb," Willow said, following Anya.

"I've got the door," Oz said, closing it behind him.

"Thank God," Giles said, jumping to his feet. "What took you so long?"

"Xander insisted we stop for pizza," Willow said as she put a small, seemingly glass, ball on the table. 

"It's never a party without pizza!" Xander said flamboyantly.

"This is a party?" Doyle asked glancing around the eclectic group.

"Angel goes bad, Xander celebrates," Cordy explained softly.

"You know I'm a fun loving guy."

"A little too fun loving if you ask me," Cordy grumbled.

"But I can't see how a vampire set on homicide and motivated by personal vengeance is cause to celebrate."

"Well," She sighed. "Welcome to the world of Xander Harris."

"And you dated this guy?" Doyle asked, disbelieving.

"Yeah, well, don't remind me," she said, pushing herself up off of the couch and moving towards the table.

Doyle was right on her heals. He didn't want to admit it, but he was terrified of these people. They treated the supernatural, demons, vampires, and the forces of evil, like the every day. They weren't amazed by it, or frightened by it, and the prospect of a horrible death didn't seem to concern them. No, Doyle amended, it did concern them, but as he listened to the college age banter he realized that what Dr. Walsh would be putting on her next test and how horrible working a humiliating job for minimum wage was far more pressing. 

What a world, Doyle wondered. Evil and Pizza. He wondered what it would be like to grow up like that. He wondered how that kind of life had changed Cordy. He wondered how that kind of life would have changed him.

As he was thinking this, and munching on vegetarian pizza, he began to feel an aching behind his eyes and he could hear echos of sounds that weren't being made in his ears. "Damn," he muttered quickly.

Cordy, who was standing next to him, turned her head, she knew that tone of voice. "What?" She asked softly.

"Ahhh," Doyle gasped, dropping the pizza and taking an instinctive step backwards trying to avoid the pain that was unavoidable.

Cordy saw what was about to happen and reached out to help him. She grabbed his forearms as the seer lost his balance and, while she was not strong enough to hold him up, she did manage to slow and control his collapse onto the floor.

"Oh my god!" Willow said as the whole group crowded around the pair on the floor. "Is he ok? Should we call a doctor?"

"No," Cordy said. There was a tension in her voice, but she was obviously not worried about her friends health. "He's just having a vision, it happens all the time. Giles, do you have any scotch?"

"Cordelia!" Xander said with mock shock.

"It's for him," she explained, nodding to Doyle, still caught in the throes of his vision.

"No," Giles said. By the look on the young Irishman's face, Giles understood perfectly why he would need some strong scotch. "I do have brandy." he said, turning towards the kitchen to prepare a glass.

"Yeah," Cordy said, "Anything with alcohol, he's not exactly choosy."

With another gasp, Doyle snapped out of his vision as abruptly as he had fallen into it. His head was pounding and his vision blurred. He saw a half a dozen vague faces looking down at him and he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"What did you see?" Cordy asked, helping him into a more upright position.

"I'm, ah," his tounge felt numb. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Well you'd better figure it out," Cordy said, "It could be important."

As she was talking Giles waded his way through the post-teens and, reaching over Cordelia's shoulder, handed Doyle a warm brandy. "Here."

"T'anks," he said hoarsely, before taking a swig of the drink. It burned his throat and offered him some pain to distract him from his slowly ebbing migraine, and it felt very good.

"Are you alright?" Willow asked, her brow wrinkled with compassion. 

"For now," Doyle said, feeling horribly conspicuous. He staggered to his feet, with a little help from Cordelia and tried to shake the vision off. "But we won't be for long."

"Vaguely foreboding," Anya mused. "Spooky, but not particularly helpful."

"I saw Angel," Doyle said, talking mostly to Cordelia and Giles. "He was fighting with a big . . . black . . . oily . . . demon . . . thing."

"Anya's right," Oz commented, "Vaguely foreboding."

"Could it be symbolic maybe?" Willow asked. "Like the big black oily demon thing is the bad inside of Angel and he's fighting it."

"I suppose . . ." Giles started, taking off his glasses.

"No," Doyle insisted. "It doesn't work that way. This is a real fight, and we're suppose to do something." 

"What?" Cordy demanded. "Help homicidal Angel or help evil black oil demon?"

Doyle shrugged, "Believe me, darlin' I wish I knew."

"Darling?" Xander asked, his voice cracking just a little. Everyone in the room glared at him, and Anya whaped him in the stomach with more force than Xander would have given her credit for.

The awkward moment was shattered by the phone ringing. Giles sighed as he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Giles," Angel said quickly. "This is Angel, I need to talk to you."

"Speak of the devil," the Englishman said softly.

"I take it you've been in contact with Cordelia or Doyle."

Giles looked at the group around him, Xander and Anya were quibbling, Willow, Oz and Cordelia were discussing the finer points of visions sent by the Powers That Be. Doyle was standing with them, maintaining the pretense that he was in the conversation considering he was the only one who had any real experience with the phenomena. But his full attention was on Giles, and the person on the other end of the line. 

"Why would you say that?" Giles said cautiously.

"You're protecting them," Angel said, with keen insight. "I respect that."

"Respect is not exactly what I was aiming for."

"I'm not going to hurt them, or you," Angel said desperately, "Or anyone."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Have you talked with Cordelia, or Doyle?"

Giles licked his lips, "No."

"Really?" Angel asked, surprised.

"Why do you think that I would have?"

"If they do contact you," Angel said, still not quite convinced that Giles was telling the truth, but not able to conceive he was lying. "Their going to tell you some things that will . . . put me in a bad lghit."

"Such as?"

Angel hesitated, why was it that the moments of his life he most wanted to forget always seemed to be the moments he had to relive a thousand times. "That I'm evil," he finally said. "And that I tried to kill Cordelia."

"Did you?"

"No."

"You're right, Angel," Giles said in a hushed voice so no one would hear. "I have seen them, and I also got a chance to see a bite mark on Cordelia's neck and hear Doyle's description of how she got it."

"Are they alright?" Angel asked, overjoyed that his friends had made it to the relative safety of Sunnydale.

"Yes," Giles said slowly, it wasn't like Angelus to be concerned about that sort of thing, although Angelus was very clever. It could be a trick and Giles had been tricked in the most cruel of ways by Angelus before. "But there significantly frightened. You have a lot of explaining to do."

"I know. All I'm looking for is a chance to explain."

"I don't think they'll be particularly eager to take that chance."

"You can talk them into it."

"It's not a chance I'm particularly eager to take as well," Giles said bitterly.

Angel closed his eyes, he remembered, very clearly, snapping Jenny Calander's neck and then carrying her to Giles' house while the watcher was away, making other peoples homes vampire-safe. He remembered hiding in the shadows, watching the watcher, so numbed by grief that he couldn't think. He remembered a suicide attack that would have been deadly if Buffy had not stepped in. But worse of all, after all that, he remembered Giles tied to a chair, broken and bleeding wanting nothing more than to join his beloved Jenny. And Angelus, out of spite, had denied him even that. Still, remarkably, he had gotten a second chance. While the, somewhat less stable, Xander Harris chanted, kill kill kill, Giles had said no. He had put revenge behind him for the cause and for Buffy. Angel almost wished there was an icy hatred or the burning need for revenge compiling in the man's chest, because that would have been fair. But he didn't deserve the forgiveness and trust the watcher put in him, and knowing that hurt as much as it soothed his terminally guilty conscious.

"I'll do anything, please, just . . . let me try."

Giles sighed, "Fine, where are you?"

"Santa Monica, I can be in Sunnydale by morning."

"We'll meet for coffee then," Giles said. "At the coffee shop downtown."

"During the day?" Angel said nervously, remembering how open and bright the place tended to be. It wouldn't be hard to stay out of direct sunlight, but on the other hand, it wouldn't be hard for Giles to step into the sunlight and be protected. "Good," he said, encouraged. "Coffee in the morning."

Giles didn't say goodbye he merely hung up the phone. Doyle abruptly left the conversation and walked over to the distressed watcher. 

"What he say?"

"He wants a chance to explain things."

Doyle's eye's nearly doubled in size, "And you're giving it to him!?"

"He let me choose the meeting spot," Giles explained. "We'll be perfectly safe."

"I hope you're right," Doyle said softly. "I can't say I feel safe arangin' to meet a deranged vampire on a hellmouth."

"Welcome to our world," Xander said, stepping into the conversation. The two older men looked at him incredulously, Xander cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders and tried to justify himself. "I was just wondering what was going on?" he tilted his head. "Do we have a plan yet?"

"We're meeting Angel tomorrow morning at the coffee shop," Giles stated.

"You're what!?" Xander exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room to the once private conversation.

"Not keen on subtlety are you?" Doyle asked.

"Who's going to meet him?" Cordelia said, taking an angry step forward. 

"Well the thing of it is," Doyle stuttered, trying to explain.

"No," Cordy insisted. "No! The last time I saw Angel I almost died!" She turned to Doyle, "We were running and hiding from evil-vengeful vamp, not going and seeking him!"

"We'll be perfectly safe," Giles assured her. "We're not going into this unprepared."

"This is Angelus," Cordy pointed out. "Buffy the vampire slayer with all the privileges and responsibilities that accompany the title fully prepared barely defeated him. What can you possibly do?"

Doyle glanced up at Giles, the Englishman didn't have an answer.

***

"You can't have sex with Xander," Anya informed Cordelia as the pair got ready for bed. It was decided that, for safety reasons, Cordy should stay with Anya and Doyle with Xander. If Angel was Angelus and decided to pay a visit to his friends he would go looking for Giles first, if Cordy and Doyle were there they, as well as Giles, would be dead. Split up, they had a much better chance of surviving through the night. Cordelia would have been much more comfortable staying with Willow, someone she knew well and she knew Doyle would much rather have passed the night with Giles, or even Oz, or anyone but Xander. But the college kids had a psychology exam at eight am and would not be able to stop by the coffee shop to try and place Angel on the evil-scale. So, Cordy was spending another night in a cheap hotel, only this time it was also Anya's home.

"What did you say?" Cordy asked, sure she had heard wrong.

"Xander is mine now," Anya said simply. "So you can't have him."

Cordy nodded, wishing more than ever she was staying with Willow. "You're welcome to him."

Anya smiled, almost childishly. "Good." Then she walked to the other side of the room, picked up a cheap romance novel, and started reading. Cordy waited a moment, expecting Anya to do something. She didn't. Finally, Cordelia took a step forward and confronted the former demon with something that had been bothering her all day. "What's with you and Xander?!" She demanded.

Anya glanced up from her book, looked around, and after a moment asked: "Were you talking to me?"

"Who else would I be talking to?" Cordy asked motioning to the empty room.

"You could have been talking to yourself," Anya pointed out. "Or the lamp."

"The lamp?" Cordy said, Anya didn't seem to be kidding or sarcastic, and that frightened Cordy just a little. "Why would I talk to the lamp?"

"I don't know, that's your business." Anya shrugged, turning back to her book.

Cordy sighed and grabbed the novel out of the other girls hands. "Hey,"Anya looked up at her more curious than insulted, "I was reading that."

"I'm trying to talk to you," Cordy said somewhat desperately.

"Ok, talk," Anya said casually, eyeing her book.

Now that Cordelia had Anya's attention she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to say, or more accurately how she wanted to say it. 

"What is the deal with you and Xander?" 

"What do you mean?" Anya asked. 

"I mean, you two went to prom last year that was, ok, creepy, but considering your options understandable. But now! I mean, weren't you a vengeance demon?" 

"Yeah?" Anya said, "What's your point?" 

"Didn't you get stuck in this mortal plane because of MY vengeance wish AGAINST Xander?"

"You do have a point don't you?" Anya asked, "Because I was getting to the sex part of the book." 

Cordy tried to find words to describe her utter bafflement. Xander! And Anya! Night and day! Oil and water! Baking soda and lemon juice! But her brain was too tired to try and comprehend the relationship Xander had fallen into after she had rejected him. She collapsed on the bed and closed her eyes. 

"Can I have the book back?" Anya demanded. Without looking, Cordy threw the book in Anya's general direction. "Thank you," Anya said chiperly picking up her book and, forgetting everything but the pulp fiction, didn't even notice as Cordelia drifted off to sleep on her bed.

***

"So," Xander asked with a nervous laugh. "You and Cordy."

Doyle blinked, "Me and Cordy what?"

Xander nodded, "You . . . and _Cor_dy."

Doyle glanced around the room nervously, "What are you getting at?"

Doyle's apparent ignorance through Xander for a loop. "There is a you and Cordy, isn't there?"

"In the sense that we both exist."

"Not in any . . . _other_ sense?"

"Don't I wish," Doyle said roguishly, finally catching Xander's drift. "Hey, the two of you used to be a couple didn't you?"

"Yeah," Xander said cautiously.

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Well, she's a snobby, selfish, spoiled, valley-girl who can't see anything unless it directly affects her." 

"Is that really how you see her?" Doyle asked a little bothered.

"I guess," Xander said. 

"It's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"What, you don't think that?"

"Well," Doyle said, trying very hard to think of Cordelia's character, not her eyes or figure. "She's somethin' special. I've never meet anyone like her."

"That's true, I guess," Xander admitted. "Cordelia," he continued, expanding on the things he'd pondered so often, "is very complicated."

"You can say that again," Doyle chuckled.

"And the thing is, I don't think she wants to be. She wants desperately to be shallow and hollow, because she thinks people are attracted to that, and she thinks she needs people to like her. But deep down she knows that's not true. So she's trapped in a life she thinks she wants but can't pull off, and she's attracted to things, to people," he amended, "who would drive her out of that life, who see more in her than a fashion savvy queen."

"How could somebody miss tha?" Doyle asked with wonder.

"I don't know," Xander said, equally baffled. "But a lot of people do."

***

Angel stared into his coffee. He glanced outside, at the sunlight that was inching in, reaching for him, threatening him with incineration. He glanced at some of the more shadowy corners of the room, tempted to retreat into the safety, but no, he expected his friends to act on more faith than he deserved he needed to show a little faith himself.

Finally, he saw a less than imposing pair approach. Giles walking with a sort of hardened defiance and Doyle following much more timidly. Giles had the strength of his anger to propel him to meet the homicidal vampire, Angel mused, Doyle only had fear. Granted there was the fear of losing Cordelia if this didn't work, but Giles had lost actually lost Jenny. Doyle had risk where Giles had vengeance.

"Hey," Angel said, forcing a smile that was not returned as Giles and Doyle sat opposite of him.

"Hey Mate," Doyle said, with absolutely no fraternity in his voice.

"Angel," Giles said, with even less amity. "Or should I say Angelus?"

"Angel," The vampire insisted. "I know it looks bad . . ."

"Yeah," Doyle nodded. "I should say so."

"I didn't kill Cordelia."

"Right," Doyle said, the torment of the memories of that night was very clear in his voice. "You bleed her to an inch of death, keeping her alive so that you could hunt her down again. You're a saint."

"Listen," Angel said desperately. "Do you remember the rhyme, the one that told us we could only kill the demon if he was resting."

"Yeah, so?"

"We thought that the country club had the demon's shrine, where he rested, but we were wrong. It was his headquarters but I had to wait, to follow him, to find the place where he rested. I needed to go undercover."

"Did you suddenly lose your propensity for stealth?" Giles asked.

"I couldn't be stealthy," Angel tried to explain. "The demon had all these little goblin . . . things. They were everywhere, they saw everything. I had to convince him I wasn't a threat."

"By betraying your friends?" Giles asked.

Angel glanced away. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I know there's no way for me to make it up to you, or to Cordelia. And I know there is no way you could trust me, 'cause for all you know this is one of Angelus's mind games, and I know as well as you do that those are exactly the games Angelus would want to play. And I can't say anything to make you trust me after what I did but I can ask you to. And," Angel looked Doyle right in the eyes, "I am."

There was silence at the table as Doyle considered his options. The decision was made even more complicated by the fact he knew he was making it for Cordelia as well as himself. If he trusted Angel, and he was wrong they were both dead. But if he didn't trust Angel, and he was wrong, they were both out of one of the best friendships imaginable. As Doyle stared in to the vampire's eyes, trying to find a soul, he realized that in the end all but one decision lead to death. He would die if he mistook Angelus for Angel. He would die if he didn't, Angelus would still hunt him down and find him. If Angel was good, and Doyle left, he would be cursed with visions of people who needed helping and know they never got helped. And Cordelia, what would she do? She had no skills, she had no talent, she had no money. Doyle knew what happened to pretty girls with that kind of résumé in L.A. In his opinion death would be preferable to those prospective futures. The only option, as he saw it, was trusting Angel, but that was a card he was not yet willing to play.

"Slayed the demon, did'ja?" he asked, looking away nervously.

"Yes," Angel said.

"Big black thing?"

"How did you know?"

"Was there a battle?"

"Not really," Angel said, "He was sleeping."

Doyle nodded, "He didn't die."

"What?" Angel asked, a little panicked.

"You're lying, and I don't know why," Doyle said. "But you didn't kill him."

"I stabbed him at least fifty times," Angel insisted.

"He had a vision," Giles interjected. "He saw the demon."

Angel blinked a couple times and leaned back in his chair, pondering the information. "There must be another one," he said softly.

"Or you didn't really kill it in the first place."

Angel tried to think of a rebut, but there was none. "I'll just have to kill him again."

"Why don't you go do that?" Doyle asked. "Come back and we'll talk."

With that, Doyle and Giles stood and backed away from the table, not risking to turn their backs on Angelus. Angel watched them go, into the light, and he wished to god he could follow them.

***

"Don't you have a job or anything?" Cordelia asked, somewhat annoyed as Xander walked into Giles's house, much to the delight of Anya.

"Frequently, yes."

"He got fired from Mr. Slushy," Anya explained. Her voice made it obvious that she thought no less of him for it.

Cordelia, however, did. "Mr. Slushy? Isn't that the place with eternally sticky floors and horrible service? What could you possibly do to get fired from there?"

"He ruined the slushy machine," Anya said proudly as she fiddled with Xander's shirt button. 

"Apparently if you don't clean the nozzles there is a 'sugary build up' which then creates pressure on the machine resulting, eventually, in an explosion of sorts."

"Slushy everywhere," Anya gigled. "He smelled like blue raspberry for a week."

"Yum," Cordy said sarcastically.

"It was yummy," Anya informed her. "I got to lick some off."

"Anya," Xander laughed, "Do you remember when we talked about over-sharing?"

"Yes," she said innocently.

"This would be an example of one of those times." 

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Ok."

"Boy, Xander," Cordy said, watching the pair. "You certainly have refined taste."

Xander's only response was a sigh as he dropped his head. 

The three ended up digging Giles' TV out of a pile of musty books and watching Sesame Street for the better part of the morning. Anya seemed very entertained by the entire show, and Xander was more than mildly amused by the puppets, Cordelia couldn't believe that any self respecting person in New York would dress like Bob. 

When Sesame Street ended Anya and Xander got into a spat about what should come next, soap operas or Wishbone. What really frightened Cordy was that Xander was the one begging to see 'All My Children.' But before the debate could be settled, there was a knock at the door.

"All I'm saying," Xander argued as he got up to open the door, only to be immediately assaulted by six little hobgoblins. 

"Xander!" Anya yelled, running towards where he was struggling. But before she got very close a big, black, oil shaded demon walked into the room, ducking to fit into the door. He stepped over Xander, struggling with his personal demons, and back-handed Anya without a second thought. She flew across the room with a yelp, only to be stopped by the stairwell, where she crumpled, but didn't move. 

"I've been looking for you," The demon said to Cordelia who was desperately looking for a way out of the room.

"Well, actually," he said. "I was looking for Angelus, but I know how heros are, he'll come and he'll try to fight me and try to kill me, and in my weakened state, he just might."

"Weakened?" Cordy muttered. He seemed very strong to her.

"Look at me!" He roared, motioning to his torso that, upon careful examination, had small circular scars. "He stabbed me as I was regenerating!! Coward!"

"I'm sure he's really sorry," Cordy said, with her back to the wall.

"He didn't kill you, why?"

"Honest mistake?"

"He cares about you, he was protecting you."

Cordy laughed nervously, "He nearly killed me."

"He'll come looking for you," the demon said, putting his hand on Cordy's throat and applying a steady and crushing pressure. She clawed at his slimy hands for a moment, but her body was not prepared for any test of strength or stamina, and she quickly lost consciousness. Xander tried to evade the little monsters that had him pinned, to help Anya, to save Cordy, but it was impossible, there were too many. 

Once the demon was truly gone, the little monsters seemed to evaporate. Xander waited a second, to see if they would come back, but when they didn't he jumped onto his feet and ran, without thinking, over to where Anya was laying, sprawled on the stairs.

"Anya," he said, gently picking up her head and pushing her hair out of the huge, bloody mess on her forehead. "Oh, God, Anya, be ok."

He knew he should find someone, Giles or Doyle, or Buffy. He knew he should try and save Cordelia, but as he watched the blood pulse out of Anya's perfect forehead he couldn't find the strength to pull away from her. "Be alright," he prayed again, taking off his shirt and ripping it to make a bandage. Had he been thinking he would have gone up the stairs and found a first aid kit, or even used one of those prissy cloth napkins Giles used. But he was far too panicked to think.

***

"You didn't, by any chance, leave the door ajar when you left," Doyle asked as he cautiously walked through Giles little courtyard.

"No," The watcher said, as he locked up his decrepit Studebaker. "Why do you ask?"

"Cause it's ajar now," Doyle said softly. "And hangin' off it's hinges by the looks of it."

Giles immediately left his rustbucket and joined Doyle in looking at the door. 

Doyle laughed nervously. "We left Angel at the coffee shop, he couldn't of . . . I mean he's not invited or anything." He looked up at Giles, truly frightened. "Is he?"

"No," Giles whispered staring at the door, wondering what kind of horrors would be behind it, wondering if anything could top the last time Angelus was in his house, wondering if he wanted to know the answer. "He couldn't have gone in."

"Then how bad can it be?" Doyle asked nervously, whapping the Englishman on his shoulder. When Giles's didn't answer he muttered, "That bad?"

"We had best go and see," Giles said, with remarkable courage. He took a brave step forward and entered his home sweet home. Doyle followed more cautiously.

The first thing Giles saw was Xander and Anya, perched on the stairs, the young girls head in the young man's lap. The pair was, in fact, the only thing wrong with the room, everything else was perfect, the dust on the old books had not even been disturbed.

"Xander!" Giles said, bonding over to the couple with Doyle right behind him. "Anya, what happened?"

"A demon came in," Xander said, stroking the conscious but dazed Anya's head. "He attacked us, took Cordelia."

"Where?" Giles demanded.

Xander shrugged, "He didn't say, but he did talk about Angel."

"Angel?" Doyle asked his throat dry. "What'd he say about Angel?"

"Um, that he didn't kill Cordelia, and he cared about her, and he would rescue her."

"It was Trasserite, taker of souls," Anya slurred. "He did it."

"Trasserite?" Doyle asked, the name sounded familiar..

"Let's just say the sharp stairwell and her head had a disagreement," Xander tried to explain. "Her head lost."

"No," Anya said, shaking her head, before wincing. "Don't you remember?" 

"Oh child sleep well I'll sing my best

Of works of demons as they may

And of them, darling, Trasserite

"Guarded by his minions he rests

Gaining strength during day

Readying for the night

Death can not reach him lest

Silver pierces him as he lay

Exterminating the blight

For only the earth will guide him to death

Lo if he falls, and stabbed to stay

That is how to kill, Trasserite"

"That was the incantation Angel used to hunt and kill the demon," Doyle said, glancing up at Giles "With a few additions."

"It's not an incantation," Anya said, just a little miffed. "It's a nursery rhyme for demon children. She looked at Doyle. "I can't believe you didn't know that."

Xander and Giles assumed that she was just surprised by how ignorant human beings were. But Doyle, partially because he didn't know Anya and partially because he knew himself, heard a lot more in the question. "What," he asked nervously, "What do you mean?"

"We'll you half demon," she said casually, as casually as she would have said, you're a goy, or you Irish, as if it were obvious to everyone in the room.

"Ha!" Xander said, patting the girl in his lap gently, but in a demeaning manner. "What a wacky kid."

"Xander, stop it!" Anya said, doing the unthinkable and pushing herself away from him. Why was it that they always tended to doubt her? She'd been alive millennia before their parents were born, why did they think she knew nothing? "Why don't you believe me when I tell you things," she said, a little hurt. "We need to talk about this."

"Not right now," Xander said in a singsongy voice.

"Anya," Giles interjected before the lovers quarrel got off the ground. "Why do you say Doyle is a demon?"

"Well," Anya chuckled, "Cause he is."

"Anya, remember that conversation about having reasons for saying what you do?" Xander started, as if he were talking to a five year old.

Doyle knew that, if he stayed silent, his 'mixed' heritage would eventually be whittled down to Anya bumping her head on the stairs. But he saw the incredulous look in Anya's eye and he knew that he shouldn't sacrifice her honor for a lie, or even an incorrect assumption. "She's right," Doyle said soft, but solidly. "I am part demon."

"Really?" Xander asked nervously, "Which part?"

"Just don't tell Cordelia," Doyle begged.

"She doesn't know?" Giles asked. However he was far to familiar with the relationship problems of young people to be surprised, the whole thing just made him feel tired.

"I'm gonna tell her," Doyle assured them. "I'm just working up the courage."

"So how does one become part demon?" Xander asked as his mind reeled.

"You know," Doyle said, glancing uncomfortably around him. "I don't think my species of origin is really important right now. Trassite , or whatever his name is, has Cordelia."

"Xander," Giles said, his mind back on track. "You said the demon said that Angel had tried to kill it."

"Yes,"

"Maybe Angel was telling the truth," Doyle said hopefully.

"Or maybe Angelus has a partner," Giles said, voicing the other obvious option.

"Eder way the only thing to do is go back and talk to Angel."

"We could be walking into a trap," Giles warned.

"Yeah, or we could sit here and do nothing our entire lives," Doyle pointed out. "This isn't a defensive battle we're fightin' here. We can't afford for it to be, the stakes are too high now, we have to attack."

"Your right, we do need to go on the offence," Giles said, his voice raising just a little, "but we can't be foolish about it, we can't ally ourselves with our enemies. We don't know where Angel or Angelus stands."

"You never *know* where anyone stands!" Doyle pointed out. "You live on faith that you can trust people. When you go out to eat you don't wonder if someone put rat poison in the jello . . ."

"I do," Xander said, raising his had.

"You trust that strangers aren't trying to kill you, and if your wrong your dead. Angel has done a hundred things to win my trust and, as backward as it sounds, one of those things is not killing Cordy and me last night when he could'a. If I second guess everything he does and say, if I wonder if it's a game Angelus is playing, then I'll never be able to work with him again, and innocent people will die. I know tha'. As much as I cringe when I say this, it'd be better to go on faith, and be wrong, and die, than to kill all those people, Cordelia included, because I lacked faith." He paused, a little startled by his passionate argument. Anya, Xander and Giles were staring at him with a sense of wonder. He started backing away. "I'm gonna go find Angel," he said meekly before turning and nervously walking out the door.

Giles sighed, the young were passionate and not cautious, and so much wiser than him at times it seemed. 

"What do we do?" Xander asked looking from Anya to the door, then to Giles.

"Go help him," Giles sighed. "Once you find Angel bring him back here. In the mean time I'll bandage Anya's head and we can start researching."

"I want Xander to stay," Anya said crossly. "You're old."

Xander glanced at Anya, "Maybe I should . . ."

"Go," Giles ordered.

"Right," he said, bounding down the stairs, when he got to the door he looked back at Giles and a pouting Anya. "I'll be right back."

Once he was well out the door and following the half-demon down the street, Anya turned to Giles. "If that vampire hurts my Xander, I'll kill you."

"If that vampire kills your Xander, you will be the least of my worries," Giles observed mildly.

***

"Doyle," Angel said happily as the Irishman walked into the coffee shop with ten times the confidence he had had earlier in the morning. "And Xander," he added when he saw who was following the young man. Doyle's face was blank, impossible to read, but the contempt on Xander's face was much more than the usual animosity between the two men.

"You're still here," Doyle observed, sliding into the same seat he had occupied an hour before.

"I'm kinda stuck till sunset."

Doyle nodded, "Talk to anyone while we were gone, before we got here?"

"The waitress hit on me," Angel said cautiously, "why do you ask?"

"That big black demon friend of yours took Cordelia," Xander accused. 

Angel, as much as possible, paled.

"Guess you didn't kill him after all," Doyle said, watching Angel closely.

"We've gotta find her," Angel said with some urgency in his voice as he pushed himself away from the table.

A hint of a smile cracked Doyle's somber face, Angel was too worried to see it.

"He kidnaped her to get to me," Angel continued, "We have to go rescue her." His voice changed as he noticed the smile on Doyle's face, which was now spread across his face. "Why are you smiling?"

"It's good to have you back man."

Angel couldn't help but smile, "It's good to be back."

***

Cordelia had been terminally cold for the past two days, or so she had thought, but in the bowls of Sunnydale's wet sewers she found herself chilled to a point she had never been cold before. Breathing was hard, but that might have been because of her throat ached so much, and the worst part of that was she wasn't even sure why. She wanted to get up and run, but the one attempt she had made to stand had resulted in the black tunnel suddenly filled with white blotches as the walls spun around her and the floor heaved beneath her. So she ended up curling herself in a tight ball, trying to keep warm, with her head resting on her knees, as still as possible. She watched very carefully as the little monsters prepared the sewer for an invasion. 

***

"These are such nice sewers," Doyle said as they wandered through the seemingly endless maze Sunnydale's underground. "Very clean, very organized, nothin' like L.A."

"Yeah," Angel said, "The former mayor had good reason to keep the sewers clean."

"Sort of a diplomatic necessity," Xander commented.

"The mayor brought diplomats down here?" Doyle asked.

"No," Giles said. "They were down here already, this is where he meet them."

"Oh," Doyle said. "Shame, nice town you have . . . up there."

"Thanks," Xander said, "We're proud of it."

Anya turned to look at him scrupulously, "You told me this city was not only on a hellmouth, but also a hell hole."

Xander took her hand and patted it gently. "Anya, do you remember the conversation we had about sarcasm?"

"Anya," Angel said, not really in the mood to hear another of the pairs mind numbing conversations. "You said the demon was Trasserite, your sure about that?"

"I think I know my demons," the ex-demon said.

"But I killed him," Angel said, not arguing with the girl. "How come he didn't die?"

"Did you pin him to the ground?"

"No," Angel asked, "He was in his regenerative juices."

"What exactly do you think regenerative juices do?" Anya asked.

"Why did you kill him there?" Giles demanded, annoyed at Angel for not being clever enough to kill the demon right the first time.

"The rhyme said I had to kill him while he was sleeping," Angel said defensively. 

"No it didn't."

"Death can not reach him lest/ Silver pierces him as he lay," Angel said, quoting the pome.

"Yes," Anya said, "Laying on the ground."

"What are you talking about?"

"The fourth verse," Doyle explained. "We missed it."

Anya sighed before reciting the verse _again_ "For only the earth will guide him to death/Lo if he falls, and stabbed to stay/That is how to kill, Trasserite"

"Oh," Angel said, turning to Doyle, "How did we miss that?"

The Irishman only shrugged.

***

The demons were getting ready for something. Cordelia knew it had to be Angel. The big black one, was uttering things in his low guttural demon tongue and the little ones were scurrying panicked. Cordy decided that she should let them know how panicked they should really get. 

She licked her lips and coughed, in an attempt to make her voice as imposing as possible. In the end it was still trembling. "What do you think you're doing?" She asked, anyone who would listen. "You think this stuff will slow down Angelus? You have no idea who you're facing. This is a vampire that single handedly almost brought the world to an end. You think a few measly booby traps are going to stop him??? They won't even slow him down."

"He's a fool to challenge me!"

Cordy worked up the courage to laugh. "Ah-ha! You're the fool. Last time you met he fooled you into leading him to your resting place, where he would have killed you if he knew how! But you can bet he knows how now."

"And I know how to kill him," the demon said defiantly.

"Knowledge isn't everything," she said. "You can't pull it off, and you know it. Why else would you kidnap me? You knew you couldn't defeat him alone so you tried to get the advantage with me but, and I hope your ready for this. Angel is big on revenge and he's big on protection; you haven't made him weaker, you've made him stronger. You might have lived for a while if you kept quiet and let him go, but kidnaping me? You dug your grave and there's nothing left but to lay in it."

"You're trying to scare me."

"I'm trying to warn you. I don't like seeing demon splatter, I'd rather avoid the whole thing."

"I won't be scared."

"Then you're just stupid."

Trasserite was three thousand years old and had stolen more souls than the small girl in front of him could comprehend. He was not about to let her insult him, so he did the one thing he felt he had the power to do, he slapped her.

Cordelia's head spun as her entire body, curled in a ball, fell to on her side. The world seemed to swim around her and her eyes did not want to focus. And when Angel spoke, she could hear it echo inside her head.

"Why don't you pick on people your own size!" Angel demanded.

Cordy pushed herself to her knees, which was not a pleasant experience, but allowed her to see Angel, followed by Doyle, Giles, Xander and even Anya, boldly parading into the demon's chambers. 

"Angel watch out!" Cordy yelled as she tried to crawl to her hands and knees. "The whole place is rigged wi . . ." Before she could finish, Trasserite kicked her viciously in the head. 

The group at the door watched her roll a few times before hitting an exposed rock wall. She didn't move to get up.

"Cordelia!" Doyle yelled, pushing against Angel to go save his helpless princess. The vampire didn't let him move an inch.

"She said the place was rigged," Angel reminded them all before entering the gauntlet. "Tread carefully and if you see the demons avoid any part of the floor or a wall, try and avoid it too."

"Yeah," Xander chuckled nervously as the group started inching there way towards the gloating demon. "Little obstacle course, this is fun."

"You think you'll make it, vampire?" the demon asked. "With your quick reflexes and all your wits about you, you just might. But look behind you, at the bumbling humans, do you think they have a prayer?"

Angel glanced behind him, Giles was not at his physical prime, Xander was clumsy, and Anya's mind was never truly focused. The demon was right, this was a challenge for Angel, and Angel alone.

"He's right," Angel said, as he turned and looked at his friends. "You guys don't have a prayer."

"So what do you want us to do?" Xander demanded incredulously. "Just leave?"

"Sounds good to me," Anya chimed. 

"Giles, hand me the sword," Angel said, ignoring the young couple all together.

Cautiously, Giles pulled an ancient silver broad sword out of his coat and handed it to Angel. "Be careful," the ex-watcher instructed. "He's ready for you this time."

"And this time I'm ready for him," Angel said with a determination set in stone. The vampire turned around and started to head across the booby-trapped floor, straight to free the beautiful damsel and slay the hideous monster when he sensed a presents behind him. "Doyle what do you think you are doing?" he asked quietly but sharply.

"I'm going to help ya," Doyle said simply.

"This place is set up to be a death gauntlet."

"I know."

"How do you expect to get through it?"

"By followin' you."

"That's not enough, a human's reflexes . . ."

"How about a demon's?" 

Angel looked at his friend surprised, it wasn't like Doyle to ask to fight, or volunteer to transfer into his demonic form. "Once you get over there you're gonna have a demon to slay. He's got all those gargoyle-y things over there, you're gonna need some backup too."

"Fine," Angel breathed. "But be careful."

"Not a problem, mate," Doyle said. He shook his head and the human figure was replaced by that of a green, spiked, Bracken demon. 

"I remember that," Anya commented, remembering the thousands of times she had turned from a human to a demon in front of some young girls eyes.

"Oh my god," Xander gasped. "When he said he was a demon he wasn't kidding."

"I've never seen anything like that," Giles said with pure intellectual curiosity.

"I miss that," Anya said wistfully.

Angel and Doyle were oblivious to the whole conversation. They were concentrating very carefully on the gauntlet in front of them, Angel inched forward with the utmost of care and Doyle followed, ducking when Angel ducked and running when Angel ran. He didn't notice the blades that flew over his head when Angel yelled duck or the stakes that whizzed just to the right or left to them. All of his concentration was focused on following Angel until he heard a scream. 

It was Anya, the group was being attacked by hobgoblins and she was frightened, but Doyle didn't know that. He blinked, reminding himself that he had to concentrate on Angel and his movements. But in those three seconds it took him to remember that, he was distracted, Angel ducked and he missed it and a large wooden stake was propelled into his right bicep, inches away from his heart. The force of it propelled him backwards and he hit the floor with a thud. He panted a few times, and stared at the dark ceiling, trying to swallow the pain but he couldn't, he managed to push himself to a kneeling position and pull the oversized splinter out of his arm. Pain ripped through his body and shocked him back into human form. He looked behind him, through three yards of deadly traps, to Giles Xander and Anya fighting the little demons and realized he couldn't go back, but the three feet in front of him were equally deadly, he couldn't go forward. All he could do is clutch his arm and watch.

***

Angel approached Trasserite the soul stealer cautiously, peripherally he knew that Doyle was stuck in the middle of the traps and that Giles, Xander, and Anya were struggling against the little hobgoblins, and that Cordelia was lying perfectly still against a hard earth wall. But none of that information would help him kill his demon, and that's all he wanted to do. He drew the sward and then threw the sheath on the ground, "You're dead," he said as he approached the demon, imposingly.

"You've thought that before."

Angel smiled, which seemed to trigger his transformation into a vampire, "Fool me once, shame on you."

He drew his sword and attacked viciously. The demon's natural defenses were remarkable, every perry was met with a thrust of his hard, oil colored body. He didn't need any weapons and he didn't need any hobgoblins, he could defend himself perfectly, but what he couldn't do was strategise. The entire fight he was attacking through instinct sensing the vampire's weaknesses instead of calculating them. Angel was kept on his toes, but as the battle wore on and they became accustomed to each other's style of fighting, Angel had the advantage He strategised, planed two to three strikes ahead, and started moving their battle towards the earthen wall. The poem said that he had to lay on the earth to be killed, but there was no earth in this perfectly paved sewer to lay on. There was, however, a nice exposed wall and Angel figured it would be enough to pin him to that. At least enough for the time being. If he was wrong he would just have to wait and kill the demon a third time. And while he didn't relish that idea, getting Cordelia back was more important to him than accurate demon slayage at the moment. 

With several brilliant sword moves, learned over two hundred years of fighting, he had the demon with his back to the stone wall, and with one horrendous and graceful move, he impaled the demon with his silver sword, pinning him to the earthen wall, and effectively killing him.

"Fool me twice," Angel said staggering back, exhausted. "Shame on me."

The room was totally silent for a second as the intensity and the energy of the battle evaporated. The silence was broken, quite appropriately it seemed, by Cordelia's meek voice.

"Angel?"

The vampire blinked and looked around, he didn't see her initially. But then he realized that she was trapped, pined to the wall by the demon's legs. He had stabbed the demon almost directly over her, concentrating on the fight too much to keep track of her.

his demonic face slipped off as he knelt down to help her out of her horrific prison. Quite to his surprise once she was free she threw her arms around him in an almost crushing embrace. She buried her head in his shoulder and he could feel, more than hear, her sob. 

Tentatively, Angel wrapped his arm's around her and awkwardly stroked her long, soft hair. She didn't say anything to him, but she was so bold in her affection that she didn't have to. Angel knew he was forgiven, even though he didn't feel that he had earned it. He pressed her cold body closer to his. "I'm so sorry," he choked.

"Everything's alright now," she assured him before pushing herself away from his protective embrace and taking a deep breath. "Let's get out of here, I'm cold."

Angel nodded. "You bet," he said as a smile crept onto his face

***

The tea pot's whistle screeched for a second before Giles got a chance to take it off of the burner. As he pored the boiling water into the mugs he watched Angel carefully bandage Doyle's arm. The Irishman had a fair amount of whisky in him, for medicinal purposes, but he still winced in pain as Angel tightened the bandage. 

Giles had suggested that they go to a real hospital, but both men edged away from that idea with some vehemence. Giles had to assume that it had something to do with not really being human.

Cordelia was curled up in a ball on his couch, sleeping soundly. She had a hint of a smile on her face that showed a perfect contentment, betraying the fact that she was not at all afraid of the demon that was sitting at his feet or the Vampire who had rescued her. 

_What a perfectly odd trio,_ Giles thought. A vampire set on doing good and saving soul's instead of taking them. A half Demon who had visions and, as far as Giles could tell, very little else. And Cordelia, the queen of Sunnydale who had fallen so far. They weren't the three people he would have chosen to save the fallen city of Angels, but, as he thought of it, he certainly would not have chosen Buffy for the slayer, but she was the right choice. 

With a sigh Giles resigned to the fact that, with all of his knowledge of the dark things that crawl and kill in the night, he would never be able to comprehend the way the good forces in the universe worked, they were too big too complicated, too unexpected, too _good_. And that is exactly why he didn't mind fighting so adamantly for them and why _knew_ that, in the end, Good would win.

The End


End file.
